


Cherry Wine

by AlgedonicLore



Series: Like Real People Do [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-03-17 13:49:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3531608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlgedonicLore/pseuds/AlgedonicLore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four years after everything went down in Kirkwall, Anakin is happy with her clan. When her Keeper receives a message from the Creators telling her that Anakin must attend the Conclave that's been whispered about, everything is turned upside down and she's thrown into a situation she never thought herself able to handle.</p><p>(Or Anakin would really like everything to settle down and everyone to stop getting so angry all the time, and it would also be nice if she could have a conversation with someone without it being in between battles.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If the Heavens Ever Did Speak

**Author's Note:**

> Here we enter game canon. It'll follow pretty close to the script, but the characters won't always speak the exact lines that they did in-game. There will also be a few canon tweaks that'll become more obvious as things go on.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Anakin!”

Anakin stood quickly from where she was gathering embrium seeds for the fish she’d caught that morning. Under the high noon sun, and the intense yellow gaze of the First of her clan, she sweated nervously.

“Mairon!” she said. “What are you doing here?”

Mairon tapped her gnarled black wood staff against the dirt impatiently. “Keeper Deshanna wants to see you. Immediately.”

Mairon’s grim proclamation didn’t ease Anakin’s nerves at all, and she searched quickly for anything she might have done to incite the rage of her Keeper. She came up blank. In the past four years, since her abruptly ended hellathen, she hadn’t even toed the line. She was a model of perfect behavior.

Mairon suddenly grinned. “Got you there, didn’t I? The Keeper does need to see you, but it’s nothing bad. It did seem serious though, so I would hurry.”

“Do you have any idea why she needs me?” Anakin asked, standing and brushing the dirt from her knees before pocketing the seeds she’d harvested. Mairon shrugged, tossing her long red hair as she began walking away.

“None at all, but the Dread Wolf knows she doesn’t trust me with anything. I think she’s hoping she’ll wake up and it’ll all be a trick and I was lying about being a mage.”

Anakin, long-legged as she was, easily caught up to her. “Oh, come on, Mairon! The Keeper loves you. She just wishes you would actually show some reverence for the Creators. And show a little less interest in forbidden magics.”

Mairon snorted eloquently. “Please. Why would I show reverence for people who don’t exist? Why should I respect their laws if their enforcers are not real?”

Anakin stayed silent. This was a topic she and Mairon had agreed to disagree on.

Despite their differences, Anakin and Mairon had grown close over the past four years. Growing up, Anakin had always been slightly terrified of the feral, fiery mage, but after Anakin’s little stunt with Cullen, Mairon, rebellious as always, had become very interested in her. After much pestering on Mairon’s part and persistent politeness on Anakin’s, the two had become as close as sisters, even if Anakin was still slightly terrified of her.

Next to her, Mairon hummed. “Really, though, what is the Keeper planning? I wonder if it has anything to do with the mage rebellion.”

Anakin looked at her quickly, startled. “What?” she asked. “Why would the Keeper want to talk to me about that?”

Mairon gave another careless shrug. “You are the muscle of the clan, Anakin. Besides, who else would she send on an errand, me?”

Anakin had to concede the point. It was a miracle that Keeper Deshanna had trusted Mairon enough to fetch Anakin without an escort to keep her from running off or attempting to summon the dead.

Soon enough, the brightly colored sails of their aravels became visible through the trees. To Anakin’s surprise, the Keeper was standing on the edge of camp, pacing frantically. Worried, Anakin ran forward.

“Keeper!” Anakin called. Keeper Deshanna turned on her heel and grabbed Anakin’s wrist before marching her towards the Keeper’s tent. Mairon stayed behind, grumbling to herself. Anakin shot her a quick smile, but was then pulled into the tent.

“There’s going to be a meeting,” the Keeper announced without preface. Anakin stared at her blankly.

“A meeting of the races,” the Keeper expanded impatiently. “As mages are a matter that affects all of us, a conclave is being held by the Chantry to discuss what is to be done with them.”

Anakin felt her defenses rise at the mention of the Chantry. She could think of nothing good to come from the religion, except—

“Why are you telling me this, Keeper?” Anakin said. The Keeper’s wise green eyes met Anakin’s, filled with an emotion she couldn’t read.

“I’m sending you to Ferelden to represent our clan. You will take careful note of what is said and decided, and then you shall report back to us.”

“If I’m representing our clan, what stance should I be taking?” Anakin asked haltingly after a moment of silence, reeling at the news. The Keeper’s eyes never left hers.

“You will not tell them anything,” she said. “You are simply showing that we are not as sequestered as the shem would like to believe. They will understand that we are not so busy with our heads in the clouds that we do not worry over the fate of the world.”

It itched at Anakin to ask the Keeper what she was thinking. Mairon was correct in that Anakin was the muscle of the clan, but shouldn’t she then stay with the clan and keep them safe? Besides that, politics were beyond Anakin. She couldn’t comprehend doing anything but what her heart told her to do.  Unable to stay silent, Anakin asked, “Why me?”

“You’ve had experience with shemlen before,” the Keeper answered calmly. Anakin stared at her incredulously. Three days with a lyrium addict did not a politician make.

“Keeper,” Anakin said firmly, “I’m sorry, but I must respectfully decline. Nothing about me is suited as a representative—“

“Anakin!” the Keeper interrupted sharply. “Listen to me, da’len. This has been told to me by the Creators. You must be the one to go. This is your duty.”

“It can’t be my duty,” Anakin argued. “I am a warrior. A proficient warrior, to be fair! But I am not a politician—”

“And who is to say you need to be a politician?” the Keeper asked, crossing her eyes and scowling down her long nose at Anakin, despite being shorter than her.

“Am I being punished?” Anakin asked sadly. “Is this because I abandoned the clan all those years ago? Now I’m being sent away?”

“No, da’len, I _feel_ that you belong at the Conclave. You must be the one to go.”

“What if I ruin things?” Anakin said, voice quiet and fearful. “This isn’t just an idle jaunt, Keeper! The fate of our world rests on this meeting, and you’re sending me on the off chance that it is what the Creators want? Keeper, there is more to this meeting than I can handle!” The Keeper shook her head.

“Anakin. Nothing will go so wrong that you will not be forgiven, and I do not believe that the Creators would send you if it didn’t mean something to them. You _must go,_ Anakin. Listen with your heart. What does it tell you?”

Breathing deeply, Anakin turned her focus inward and let go of her fears and worries. It was hard, and for a moment there was silence, but deep in her heart, she felt what her Keeper described. With a short gasp, Anakin’s eyes flew open. Her Keeper smiled at her.

“Go, da’len. Fate waits for none, nor does the ship in the harbor.”

Without another word, Anakin turned and ran to grab her sword. A fire had been lit in her heart, a drum throbbed a tattoo in her head, and it sounded like Cullen’s name. Fate waited for no one, and neither would Anakin. After pecking an eavesdropping Mairon on the cheek and gratefully seizing her sword from her hands, Anakin sprinted away.

Mairon catcalled behind her, and Anakin had no way to know that hers was the last Dalish voice she would hear for years.

 

The less said about the journey to the Conclave, the better. Anakin discovered very quickly that she had no stomach for travel outside of aravels and walking. She spent the days on the sea from Ostwick to Amaranthine the most violently sick she’d ever been in her life. Pale and sickly, she’d ridden down the Imperial Highway around the Coastlands to Lake Calahad on the sweetest mare, and yet Anakin never quite got the hang of riding the poor horse and went to bed every night on a portable cot with an aching back, sore legs, and a homesickness fervent enough to leave her in tears.

It turned out that a few days spent just a few miles from her clan was not at all equal to an unknown amount of time a continent and a sea away from her clan. For the first time in her life, Anakin celebrated her birthday alone. With only her mare for company and tears leaking from her eyes, Anakin treated herself to a block of honeycomb she’d bought a few days ago. She was twenty now, but all alone and missing her clan, she felt more like a child than she ever did at sixteen.

Still, Anakin rode on, into the ever colder reaches of the Frostback Mountains. She stopped at a nice little village to purchase warmer clothes—Ferelden was far colder than the Planascene Forest in the Free Marches, but the clothes were appropriately furry and thick. As she got closer and closer the Temple of Sacred Ashes, the holiest of holy grounds for the Chantry, Anakin noticed more and more people on the road with her.

It almost seemed to be a pilgrimage, one that all the races of Thedas were making, one independent of the Chantry. Still, Anakin couldn’t help but notice that she was the only elf, and she was more aware than ever of the white vallaslin on her face, her pointed ears, and her very elvhen nose. Then she saw the Qunari making their way up the mountain and felt reassured slightly. They would surely draw more attention than she—she was slight, small, and very, very good at hiding from shemlen. The hulking Qunari with their impressive horns, gray skin, and red war paint would draw much more whispering.

Finally the Temple emerged from the clouds that hung low over the mountains. Anakin walked through the doors after handing her horse off to someone who would stable her, eyes wide and amazed. The architecture was amazing, and a strange hush cloaked the area. She could hear the soft murmurings of conversations in the rooms that branched off from the main hall, and was unsure of where to go first. It was then that she noticed a very, very old woman slipping away, down a dark hall. Anakin’s eyes narrowed. There was something about the shape of the woman’s hat that tugged at her memories… _It was the Divine_. The Divine had walked off all alone down a dark hall, but no one else seemed to realize that she was gone. Curious, Anakin followed after her.

The corridor she walked was much darker than she had first assumed, and no one followed Anakin either. The curiosity turned to suspicion. This seemed unusual. Was there magic at play? Anakin left her sword on her back, but took one of her small hunting knives from her boot and palmed it as she lowered herself, crouching down the hall.

Then, there was an explosion of green light. Throwing caution to the wind, Anakin sped up her pace before actually sprinting when she heard the Divine scream.

Furious, she threw open the doors the Divine had disappeared into. “ _What’s going on here?”_

There was a flash of green, and then everything faded.

She woke up in an unfamiliar place. A strange green fog covered everything, and a dusky light covered everything despite the lack of a sun. Shaking her pounding head, Anakin stood up shakily, breathing hard. That was when she heard the chittering. Spinning around, she saw spiders at least as tall as her knees, spiky and unnatural and terrible, crawling at her. There were dozens, and her sword and knives were gone.

Breath coming in quick gasps— _why was she so terrified?—_ she ran, scrambling away from the spiders and their horrible pincers. The fear was drowning every thought in her mind, leaving only the need to flee behind, and then, she saw what looked like a woman of light on a mountain in front of her. Determination seized her, and with the practice that came from being a native mountain-born Dalish elf, she scrambled up the rocks at a pace that would have put a mountain goat to shame. Still, no amount of distance put between her and the spiders was enough, and somehow they always seemed to keep pace with her. Trying desperately not to let her breaths to turn to sobs, she continued climbing, kicking rocks down at her pursuers. The woman was ever closer, but her hand was slipping and she wasn’t going to make it she was going to fall and die and _how was this what the Creators wanted for her?_

A hand seized hers and Anakin screamed at the sudden burning pain that hand. The woman looked down at her before pulling her sharply upwards, up and up and then—

 

Anakin woke to freezing cold and a bone deep pain. Her breath quickening, her eyes fluttered open, and she caught a flash of green—

 _Pain_. Unlike the burning pain of before, this time the pain in her hand felt like a spike as wide around as her palm being hammered brutally into her hand, twisting and aching. She gasped sharply, watching green arcs of light pulsate in time with the aching. Before she could do anything besides register that her hands were bound, a door opened.

A woman in armor with the fiercest face Anakin had ever seen marched in, and that fierce glare was trained on her. A set of guards followed the woman in, pointing their swords at Anakin, and last came a willowy woman in purple. Breath quick and terrified, Anakin’s eyes darted around from person to person. Then, the guards sheathed their swords.

The armored woman stepped slowly around to Anakin’s unprotected back. Anakin’s shoulders went high, nearly to her ears, as she fought not to cower away. Her hand _ached_.

With an accent Anakin had never heard, the woman spoke. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now,” she snarled, voice thick. “The Conclave is _destroyed_. Everyone who attended is _dead._ Except for you.”

Anakin stared blankly at her, the words slow to register. The Conclave was… destroyed? Everyone was dead? Inappropriately, she thought of the gentle mare who had carried her here, and tears pricked at Anakin’s eyes. _Thank you, friend_ , she thought. _May you find peace at the Creators’ sides._

“What do you mean, ‘everyone’s dead’?” Anakin managed to whisper, voice hoarse. The woman’s face contorted and she grabbed Anakin’s arm harshly, pulling up her strangely green hand. “ _Explain this,”_ she hissed.

Terrified, Anakin said, “I- I can’t!”

“What do you mean, _you can’t?!”_

“I don’t know what that is, or how it got there!” Anakin’s voice was just getting higher and rougher. She was cold. She was lost. This was not how things were supposed to happen, and her hand hurt _so bad._ The woman didn’t care, seizing Anakin by the front of her shirt and hauling her up effortlessly. “You’re _lying!”_

Before Anakin could protest, the woman in purple pulled the armored woman away, urging, “We need her, Cassandra.”

For a moment, Anakin was reassured, but then the purple shem took up the inquisition, firing questions faster than Anakin could keep up. After just a minute, Anakin stopped trying, looking down and letting her tears fall, their words washing over her.

The armored shem, Cassandra, made a disgusted noise. “Go to the forward camp, Leliana,” she said. “I will take her to the rift.”

Leliana left immediately, and Cassandra started undoing Anakin’s restraints. Anakin’s entire body was shaking uncontrollably, but she managed to whisper, “What _did_ happen?”

Cassandra did not answer for a long moment, then said, “It will be easier to show you.”

When Anakin was led from the dungeon and saw the giant green tear in the sky, she understood. Cassandra’s voice flowed over her like water, and Anakin was only able to catch a few words here and there.

The Breach. Entrance to the world of demons. Not the only one. Caused by the explosion. It will swallow the world.

Then, the pain in her hand hit her again. Anakin collapsed to her knees, screaming. This time, she heard what Cassandra was saying. “Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads… and it is _killing you._ It may be the key to stopping this but there isn’t much time.”

Well, that simplified things, didn’t it? Anakin’s shivers stopped and she raised her head to meet Cassandra’s eyes for the first time. Anakin took a deep breath.

“I understand.”

Cassandra seemed surprised. “Then—?”

Anakin’s chin rose and she struggled to her feet. “I’ll do what I can. Whatever it takes.”

Cassandra seemed to warm up a little bit to her then, and together they walked through the mountains, Cassandra explaining all the while. The Divine was dead. Peace was too, so it seemed, and it appeared Anakin was the prime candidate for the killer of both. Anakin kept quiet as Cassandra explained all this to her after finally freeing her hands, wondering wryly how her clan would react if they could see her now.

Anakin wasn’t at all prepared for the first demons they encountered. Chasing after Cassandra, the bridge that they were walking across was struck by a comet of energy from the Fade, crumbling the bridge beneath them. Anakin fell with a cry, landing hard on the ice of the river below her. Dazed, she looked up to see Cassandra fighting two demons on her own, her face twisted into a snarl that brought to mind the tigers of the north. Still, Anakin felt compelled to help her. She struggled to her feet, looking around. Behind her, a gift from the Creators, there was a very basic iron two-hander. It would have to work. Anakin seized it and turned around, only to come face to face with one of the demons. Anakin roared at it, swinging her sword easily. Soon enough, she was caught in the familiar rhythm of battle, the quick and the power of it. With only a nick across her bicep, she was soon triumphant, and panting slightly, she swung around with a smile, only to find Cassandra’s own sword at her neck.

“Drop your weapon. _Now._ ”

“All right,” Anakin said peaceably. “I’m putting my weapon down.”

Before she could lower it all the way to ground, Cassandra made a noise of disgust and sheathed her own sword. “I can’t promise your safety,” she said grudgingly. “Keep it. But I will be watching.”

“I will give you no cause to doubt me,” Anakin said solemnly, and they were off once more. Tentatively, Anakin started her own questioning of Cassandra.

“May I call you Cassandra?”

She snorted, but then gave a slight nod. Anakin smiled and moved closer. “I must admit, this is _not_ what I expected to happen when my Keeper sent me here.”

“Why _are_ you here?” Cassandra asked abruptly. “I thought the Dalish were far too busy hiding in their trees to care for the fate of the world.”

“We have our mages too,” Anakin said softly. “My best friend is a mage. We care about what had to be said, too. We’re not as removed as the shem would like to think.”

“Well, why you? I would have thought a Keeper or their First would be the one to come.”

Anakin shrugged. “To be honest with you, I’m wondering that myself. The Creators called for it, but why? Why me? Did they know that this was going to happen or is this beyond even their jurisdiction? I don’t know, Cassandra. I’ll be sure to let you know when I figure it out.”

“Are your gods not all powerful?” Cassandra had a glint of true curiosity in her eyes. Anakin smiled ruefully. “They were. But then, Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf, tricked them and trapped them in what you would call the Fade. Since then, their powers have been greatly diminished. Still, they find ways to communicate.”

Cassandra made a noise and then was quiet, which was well enough, because it was then that they stumbled upon a battle.

Men and women in the same armor as Cassandra were fighting demon after demon that spilled from a green tear in the air, along with two who were dressed quite differently. One was an elf— _like her!—_ whirling around a staff that erupted with magic, while the other was a dwarf who danced along the edges of the battle, firing taunts and arrows with equal accuracy.

Cassandra immediately leaped into battle, and Anakin was close behind her. Soon enough, they were able to kill all the demons, but before Anakin could relax, the elf seized her hand, shouting, “Quickly! Before more come through!”

With a cry, she tried to pull away, but then a tearing pain burst from her hand. Her cry of alarm turned to a scream, as her palm ached and hurt. It felt as if her soul was being ripped away through her hand, through the sickly green light that danced over her hand and arm.

Then, the rift closed.

Anakin jerked away from the elf, curling in on her hand and staring at him through big, wounded eyes.

“What did you—”

“As expected,” he said crisply. “The mark on your hand has the power to close the rifts in the Fade.”

“Meaning it could also have the power to close the Breach itself,” Cassandra said eagerly, moving close.

Anakin’s head spun. Was this what Cassandra had meant, when she said that Anakin was the only one who could close the Breach? Her stomach roiled and she had to swallow back bile. If it hurt this much to close a small rift, if it felt like it had taken a piece of her soul in order to close a tear this small, what would it take to close the Breach?

Then, as if like in a dream, faces flashed in her mind’s eyes. Her Keeper, maternal and loving. Mairon, mischievous and free. All those in her clan who’d raised her and loved her. Cullen. It didn’t matter if Anakin felt small, if it felt like every rift she closed was killing her slowly. For them, she would sacrifice her body and soul. A trade for their lives would be worth every drop of blood, every tear, all the pain.

 “Possibly,” the elf was saying, before turning to her with a slight smile. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

Before Anakin could do anything but stare at him with terrified eyes, the dwarf interrupted.

“Good to know. Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.”

His voice was smooth, charming, even more so when he sauntered forward to introduce himself. “Varric Tethras: Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally, unwelcome tagalong.”

He winked at Cassandra. Anakin didn’t dare turn around to see her expression, but instead, took a deep breath and smiled, holding out her unmarked hand for him to shake.

“Nice to meet you, Varric. I am Anakin of the Lavellan clan. It’s an honor.”

“Oho, those are some manners you’ve got there, sugar!” he said with a laugh. “I won’t mind having you along for company down in the valley.”

“Sugar?” she said blankly, right as Cassandra growled, “Absolutely not!”

Varric shot Anakin a quick glance and pointed to her white hair before answering Cassandra. “Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.”

Anakin fidgeted uncomfortably as Cassandra leaned in close to Varric. Was there something going on there?

Cassandra made her trademark disgusted noise and walked away. Anakin resolved not to ask.

“I am Solas,” the elf said smoothly in the silence left by Cassandra stomping away. “I am pleased to see you still live.”

“He means,” Varric interrupted, “’I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.’”

Anakin bowed her head respectfully. “Then I thank you, Solas. As much as I worship the Creators, I would not like to meet them for at least a few more years.”

He gave her a searching look before turning away without a reply. “Cassandra, you must know, the magic here is like nothing I’ve seen before. I sincerely doubt your prisoner—a warrior without a drop of magic in her veins, nonetheless—is capable of what happened.”

Cassandra nodded stiffly. “Understood. We must get to the forward camp quickly.”

She and Solas were immediately on the move. Anakin lingered, staring at her marked palm and flexing her fingers thoughtfully.

“Well,” Varric said, startling her. He patted his crossbow. “Bianca’s excited, anyway.”

Anakin followed him as they started walking, well aware of Cassandra eyeing both of them suspiciously.

“So, sugar,” Varric said. “Tell me about yourself.”

“There’s not much to tell.”

Varric laughed. “Come on now. I’m a storyteller. I can see a story when it’s walking next to me.”

Anakin smiled shyly as she clambered over a snow-covered rail. “Well, like I said, I’m Anakin Lavellan. I’m a hunter for my clan, but not a very good one. I don’t have very good eyes, you see?”

“You’re pretty proficient with that two-handed sword though,” Varric said, smiling back at her. “I’ll tell you, I’ve only met one other elf who used a sword as big as yours, and he was a beast with it. Funnily enough, he had hair like yours too.”

Anakin laughed. “Maybe he’s a relative of mine. I’m told it’s a family trait, but I’ve never met my mother.”

Solas shot a curious look over his shoulder. “Is she still of this world?”

Anakin shrugged. “I think so. She was never one to stay in one place, and she never intended to have a child. She traveled all while she was pregnant, happened to give birth to me while she was staying with the Lavellan clan, and the next day she was gone, leaving me behind. I really wouldn’t be surprised to find out I had siblings running around.”

“Well, I don’t think you’re related to Broody,” Varric said, humming thoughtfully. “I don’t think his hair was always white, but I’ll have to keep an eye out for any other white haired kids running around. If your mom wasn’t around, who raised you?”

“The whole clan, really,” Anakin said easily, “but the Keeper was the most involved in my upbringing. I think I disappointed her a bit when I wasn’t a mage, but she loves me nonetheless.”

Anakin felt her brows, already perpetually in a worried position, draw closer. “I hope they’re all okay.”

“How old are you?”

The question came from Cassandra, oddly enough. “I turned twenty about three weeks ago, depending on how long I’ve been asleep.”

Loud exclamations from all around her. Even Solas looked incredulous. “You are a child!” Cassandra said, angry as ever. “Why did your Keeper send you here?”

Anakin couldn’t really argue. She’d felt nothing but childlike since she took this journey. Still, the mark on her palm burned, and she refused to shrink back.

“I am a child, I know. I promise you, this journey has shown me nothing but how little I know of the world.”

The energy on her hand sparked conveniently and Anakin cut her palm through the air, thinking again of all of her loved one and what they must be feeling, seeing the Breach in the sky. “Still, _something_ chose me! Whether it was my Creators or your Maker or some trick of fate, something has chosen me to bear this mark, and I will use it to help, in whatever way I can. I’d do it if I was twelve and I’d do it if I was fifty, because it’s the right thing to do.”

Varric whistled slowly in the silence. “That’s some promise, sugar.”

“I’ll fulfill it,” Anakin said fiercely. “Now, let’s go. The Breach is waiting.”

 

Anakin was sick and tired of the Chantry. Cassandra, behind her, seemed pretty sick of it too, if the vitriolic curses she was muttering about Chancellor Rodrick was any indication. Even Varric seemed slightly irritated in between his amusement.

“What a pompous ass,” he said cheerily. “I mean, I’ve met some pompous asses in my time, but that guy. Wow.”

“Shut up!”

That was Cassandra. Anakin huffed and walked faster, mind turning to the choice she’d made. Leliana had seemed convinced that they needed to take the mountain path, but Anakin knew nothing about her. After hours of fighting at Cassandra’s side, she couldn’t help but feel a bit more affectionate towards Cassandra, even if she was angry and intimidating. So, when Cassandra had suggested they take the valley path, Anakin agreed with her. Now, though, she wondered. It had finally hit her that by making that decision, she had impacted the lives and deaths of dozens, if not hundreds, of soldiers. If she chose wrong, not only would she and her companions die, so would all of these people who had followed her order. Besides, Anakin may have chosen correctly, and still, people would die for that choice.

How in the world was Anakin meant to deal with that?

“Ahem.”

Anakin startled, turning to look at who had disrupted her thoughts. It was Solas. He’d been quiet, but now it seemed he had decided to speak,

“Yes?” she tried to say. Her voice was hoarse. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Yes?”

“You seemed disturbed. What are you thinking?” he said, gray eyes meeting hers carefully. She swallowed hard.

“What if I made the wrong choice? Leading the troops into the valley?”

“You didn’t make that choice,” he corrected. “Cassandra did.”

Anakin frowned at him. He was there; he should know what happened. “No, she didn’t. She had me make the final decision.”

Solas shook his head. “You don’t understand. Cassandra is a Seeker. She’s a Hand of the Divine. She’s killed men and women and she’s sent men and women to their deaths. This is something she has taken on, something that she can handle, even when it hurts. You, however, are a child. You have enough weight on you with the mark, so don’t let yourself take the weight of these people too. Whoever spoke the final words, let this be Cassandra’s decision, not yours.”

Anakin gave him a small smile, wrapping her arms around her stomach and squeezing. “That’s a wise stance to take, but I don’t know if I’m wise enough to listen.”

He smiled back at her. He had a nice smile. “That’s all right. I’ll keep reminding you.”

Varric wolf-whistled behind them and Anakin flushed bright red. “What was that for?”

Varric did not deign to answer, instead waggling his eyebrows theatrically. Anakin couldn’t help but laugh at him, but then, the rattle of a demon reached her ears. She whipped around and saw the vague green light of a Fade rift. She turned to Cassandra, who nodded sharply.

“Let’s go!”

Without another word, they plunged into battle. Anakin wasn’t sure, but she could swear that there were more demons than before, and they seemed a lot angrier. Still, with the extra range afforded to her from her sword, she was able to keep a safe distance as she sliced her way through the enemies. Forgetting to protect her back, she was unpleasantly confronted with a burning slash down her back. Crying out, Anakin whipped around to see Cassandra brutally slaughtering the creature that had attacked her. Anakin, panting, nodded in thanks to Cassandra, who sent her a tight smile before disappearing into the fray.

Slowly Anakin was working her way closer to the rift. After what had to be a good ten minutes of battle, the Fade rift suddenly shrunk in on itself—all the demons had been killed. Gritting her teeth, Anakin raised her hand to close the rift.

It hurt just as badly this time as it had before, but she managed not to scream this time.

As it disappeared, she dropped her hand, panting. Solas, also short of breath, reached her side.

“Sealed, as before. You are becoming quite proficient at this, Anakin.”

Anakin smiled tiredly at him, feeling encouraged, so of course Varric walked up and had to say, “Let’s hope it works on the big one.”

Anakin did hope. Fervently.

“Lady Cassandra, you managed to close the rift. Well done.”

Anakin went stiff, eyes flying wide as she stared at the space the rift used to occupy. No. It couldn’t be. It was just a familiar sounding voice, there was simply no way—

“Do not congratulate me, Commander,” she heard Cassandra say with a sigh. “This is the prisoner’s doing.”

Anakin still didn’t look. If she didn’t look, it couldn’t be proved one way or another. She’d be stuck in this limbo, wondering forever, and it could always be Cullen and not-Cullen at the same time, and at the same time, it could always be neither. For that to be true, however, she _couldn’t look._

“Is it? I hope they’re right about—“

He stopped talking.

Anakin still didn’t look. To be fair, she wasn’t breathing either.

“You all right there, Curly?” Varric asked slowly. Anakin couldn’t see him either to know what face he was making. All she could do was stare straight ahead, not breathing, not thinking, just waiting. Then, she heard it.

“ _Anakin.”_

Her name was whispered, his voice full of some emotion she couldn’t name. Anakin took a slow, shuddering breath, but she still couldn’t move.

How many times had she dreamed of this in the months after he left? How many times did she get in trouble for staying out late, lingering at the edge of the forest, searching the horizon for a sign, for a hint of where he had gone, if he was returning? How many times had she returned to the cabin to sleep in the bed he’d slept in, waiting for the day she’d wake up and see him in the doorway?

Too many times to count, enough that she was embarrassed when she thought about it. She’d stopped after a few months, after some harsh teasing from Mairon that had nonetheless brought her back to earth. She had been pining over some shemlen she’d only known for days. She’d grown up. Not a lot, to be honest, but enough that she’d gotten over her silly dream that he was hers, enough that she understood that any delusion she’d had about him being her hellathen had been just that—delusion. The dreams of a love-struck elvhen girl, head over heels for the idea of being in love, willing to take any sign that there was someone in the world meant for her and her alone.

Then: “ _Anakin_!”

Broad, heavy hands, the feel of which she’d never managed to forget landed on her shoulder, spinning her around. Somewhere in her head, she was aware of Solas grabbing at his staff threateningly, but she had no eyes for anything but what was in front of her.

It was _Cullen_. He was changed, yes. There was a new scar on his lip, on the side of his mouth that he smiled. His hair was longer, his eyes clearer than she’d ever seen him. The hands on her shoulders were gloved, and a thick mantle over his shoulder. Yet, there could be no doubt that the man in front of her was Cullen.

To her eternal humiliation, tears pricked at her eyes as she carefully lifted a hand, her marked hand, to gently brush against Cullen’s cheek. It was rough against her soft, shaking hand.

“Cullen,” she breathed, her eyes flickering across his face, cataloguing every similarity and every difference. His hands slowly slid up from her shoulders, over the sides of her neck to cup her cheeks gently. His eyes seemed excessively shiny too as he, achingly careful, pulled her close, leaning in so that their foreheads touched gently. She couldn’t close her eyes, meeting his warm brown eyes, so, so familiar.

“You remember me,” he whispered. “ _You remember me.”_

She laughed wetly, hands moving to his shoulders, fingers tightening in the fur there. “Of course I remember you, lethallin. The real shock is that you remember _me_. Four years is a very long time.”

He shook his head against hers. She felt his curls catch and tug at her own messy hair.

“How could I ever forget you after what you did for me in that forest?”

She pulled away from him, burying her face in his coat, breathing hard as she fought back tears. After the upheaval that was today—after the imprisonment, the interrogation, the mark on her hand, the amount of death she’d seen today—Cullen was the final straw. She was breaking.

“Cullen,” she mumbled quietely. “I’ve been so scared.”

She’d never been hugged tighter in her life. “Anakin, why—you’re the prisoner.”

“Yes,” Cassandra said sharply, somewhere that was outside of Cullen’s arms. “That is the prisoner. Would you like to explain how you know her, Commander Cullen?”

“You sure didn’t mention this in your story, sugar,” Varric added. Anakin couldn’t tell what he was feeling. Solas was silent. Anakin tried to pull away to face Cassandra. Cullen didn’t let her go. Anakin was all too happy to stay in his arms, especially when he whispered in her ear, “Last time we were together, you saved me, over and over. Let me save you this time.”

He pulled his face away, presumably to face Cassandra. “This is Anakin, of the Lavellan clan. I met her years ago. You must be mistaken. She couldn’t have done anything to the Conclave. Whatever was behind the death of the Divine, Anakin couldn’t have been it.”

“When did you meet a Dalish elf?” Cassandra asked incredulously. “Between the Tower in Ferelden, Kirkwall, and you joining me, we’ve known your whereabouts for _decades_ , and I cannot think of a time when you would have met the prisoner.”

Anakin wondered where Cassandra’s tolerance for her had gone.

“That time you went missing after you were expelled from the Order, before the rebellion,” Varric said quietly. “No one knew where you went, but when everything in Kirkwall went to shit, somehow you were there again, wielding a two-handed sword—badly, might I add—and with no trace of the lyrium addiction you’d had.”

Anakin was uncomfortably aware of the two-handed sword on her back.

“Are you telling me that the prisoner is the mysterious person who nursed you back to health?” Cassandra’s voice was loud and incredulous. “A sixteen year old elf was able to handle a lyrium-addled Templar commander?”

“Anakin is a lot more than she seems,” Cullen said forcefully. “I’m telling you—“

“In case you have all forgotten,” Solas interrupted, voice tight. “There is a massive tear in the sky spewing demons. I’m sure all of this can wait until after the Breach has been sealed by the girl in question.”

Anakin pushed away from Cullen. Reluctantly, her let her go, his hands sliding from around her back, down her arms, to hold her hands.

“He’s right,” Anakin said lowly.

“I know,” Cullen replied, equally serious. “I have a lot of questions, and I’m sure everybody else does, but I’ll content myself with one. Can you handle the Breach, Anakin?”

Slowly, she nodded. Cullen nodded with her, taking a deep breath before pulling away, eyes intense.

“Then go. Men! Move out!”

And he was gone once more, running to a limping soldier and easily lifting the man, carrying him away gently.

Anakin turned to her companions and the Breach, wiping at her eyes, uncaring of who saw.

“Thank you, Solas,” she said. “Let’s go.”

Cassandra was scarily quiet. Anakin didn’t know what she was thinking, and wasn’t sure that she wanted to. Solas was quiet too, but she was pretty sure that he was concentrated on the Breach, as she should be. Varric, though. Varric was staring at her with a very speculative gleam in his eyes.

“So,” he drawled. “Curly, huh?”

Anakin smiled. “It’s not like that.”

Varric laughed openly at her. “Oh, it’s not like that, is it? Then explain to me the way he said your name, the way _you_ said _his_ name, that tender embrace, the fiery protectiveness and possessiveness in his eyes as he held you close, daring the world to break you apart!”

Anakin laughed with him. “You really are quite the storyteller, aren’t you? It really isn’t like that. I only knew him a few days, and yes, I helped him recover from his lyrium, but he did most of it himself. I really just cheered him on. You were right, though; he did steal my sword when he left to help Kirkwall.”

“He still has it,” Cassandra spoke up suddenly. “It’s in his room at Haven. He’s carried it with him since Kirkwall.”

“Guess he’s been waiting to give it back, huh?” Varric said. Anakin didn’t reply, and that was when the still smoldering wreckage of the Temple of Sacred Ashes came into view. Instantly, all levity died. Slowly, they trudged through the burning remains. Anakin carefully averted her eyes from the blackened bodies, instead looking at the Breach.

“That’s pretty high up there,” she said softly.

“There is a rift closer to the bottom,” Solas said. “I believe it is the first to have opened. I think if we manage to close that one, then the Breach will close too.”

“You’re here! Thank the Maker.”

Together, they turned to see Leliana, who had arrived with reinforcements. Cassandra walked to her immediately. “Leliana, have your men take up positions around the Temple.”

Leliana nodded and did so without a word. Anakin watched her leave before turning back to the Breach. She could see the rift at the bottom that Solas must have talked about. Cassandra then blocked her vision.

“This is your chance to end this,” she said, eyes intense and voice low. “Are you ready?”

Anakin nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Cassandra nodded in approval. “Come. Let us find a way down.”

Anakin looked to her right, where there was a clear path down to the rift, then looked directly in front of her, where there was only a small ridge between her and the rift. Shrugging, she ignored the path and immediately jumped down to the rift. Cassandra made a disgusted noise from behind her, but followed.

Then, a deep voice spoke, something in it deeply wrong and causing the hairs on Anakin’s neck to stand on end.

“ _Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice._ ”

“Who is that?” Anakin cried.

“It’s a memory,” Solas called back. “Leftovers from whatever happened here.”

“ _Someone, help me!_ ”

Anakin’s head shot up. “I know that voice.”

“ _What’s going on here?_ ”

“That is your voice,” Cassandra said, looking shell-shocked. “Most Holy called out to you. But…”

In the green light from the rift, a black apparition with frightening red eyes appeared, bigger than even a Qunari. Then, the Divine appeared, caught in the apparition’s grasp.

“ _Someone, help me!_ ” she called again. A sick, swooping feeling caught in Anakin’s stomach. She had an uncomfortable idea of what would happen next. Sure enough, a ghostly version of herself, clutching her knife and looking both angry and scared, appeared to ask, “ _What’s going on here?_ ”

This time, the Divine continued to speak, words that rang as true in Anakin’s mind, but she had no memory of them until after they were spoken.

“ _Run while you can! Warn them!_ ”

The terror in her voice was visceral and Anakin gasped for breath as she watched the scene play, then stopped breathing entirely when the apparition said silkily, “ _We have an intruder._ _Slay the elf!_ ”

There was an explosion of light and Anakin flinched away, shielding her eyes. When she could see again, the ghostly scene was gone. Anakin was vaguely aware of Cassandra firing questions at her, but she couldn’t answer. Solas started talking, and slowly the ringing in her ears faded.

“—opening the rift will attract attention from the other side.”

“That means demons,” Cassandra said. “Stand ready!”

For one terrified second, Anakin didn’t know what she was doing, then realized that this was just a bigger version of what she’d done twice already. Slay the demons, close the rift. It would be easy. She could do it, no problems.

Breathing deeply, she pulled her sword from her back, resting it point-down before raising her marked hand and opening the rift.

If closing the rifts hurt, opening them was pain like she’d never imagined. Everything in her demanded that she stop what she was doing, but, crying out through the pain, she continued until it snapped open. Panting, she used her sword to support her, but not for long. All too soon, a demon, bigger than any she’d ever seen and with whips made of electricity, clawed its way from the rift. Unsteadily, Anakin straightened herself, and with Cassandra’s cry, flung herself into battle.

It was hard and brutal. When the demons finally stopped pouring from the rift and the huge electricity beast had cackled its last, Anakin was left on shaky legs. Her arms were covered in cuts and scrapes. Sweat was pouring from her forehead and freezing in the cold, leaving her clammy and gross. The cut down her back stung enough to keep all higher thought away, and she had a terrible electricity burn around her upper thigh where the Pride Demon had managed to wrap his whip around her leg and tug her around until Cassandra finally got her free. Despite all this, she knew she had to keep going.

Every breath a sob, Anakin limped to the rift. Somewhere behind her, Cassandra was screaming for her to close the rift. Falling to her knees, Anakin nonetheless lift her trembling marked hand. Immediately, pain erupted and she cried out freely, still holding out her hand. The soul-tearing feeling was back, but this time, there was no sign of it stopping. It just kept pulling at her essence, tearing it out and out and—

The rift vanished, and with it went the last scrap of consciousness Anakin had. She didn’t even feel it when her head hit the stone.


	2. We Lay Here for Years or for Hours

Anakin woke up warmer than she’d felt in days. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open.

She didn’t know where she was. She couldn’t muster the energy to be scared, however. Instead, she looked at the room around her. It was small, but warm, a fire crackling in the corner. The bed she woke up in was softer than any mattress she’d felt before, and she was pretty sure that her pillow was stuffed with actual goose feathers.

She tried to sit up, then immediately fell back, gasping. Her back ached, as did her neck, the side of her face, her arms, and her left thigh felt like it was on fire. Memories rushed back with the pain, and she let her head thump back against the pillow. What a great impression to give everyone, passing out after a battle like that. How embarrassing.

Suddenly, Anakin became aware of a familiar scent. Turning her face, she realized there was a cup of still-steaming tea on her bedside table. Frowning, Anakin forced her tired body to move, propping her body up and reaching for the tea.

“Ah! You’re awake!”

Anakin looked to the door. A small dark-haired elf was gaping at her next to a small pile of dropped boxes.

“Where am I?” Anakin croaked. The elf dropped to her knees.

“You’re in Haven, my lady!” she cried, voice reedy and nervous before dropping into reverent tones. “They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand.”

Anakin looked at the hand in question, which was wrapped innocently around the teacup. Still, there were traces of a faint green glow. She looked up to see the elf girl staring at her with big green eyes, similar to her own.

“It’s all anyone has talked about for three days.”

“Please,” Anakin said softly, voice scratchy. “Stand up. There’s nothing for you to be afraid of.”

The girl looked at her and didn’t move. Anakin sighed. “I’m glad that we’re safe, at the very least.”

The girl nodded before standing on shaking legs. “I’m certain Lady Cassandra would want to know you’ve awakened. At once, she said.”

Anakin nodded. “Very well. I’ll find her now.”

The girl started to run out.

“Wait!”

She froze at the door, sending Anakin a meek glance. “Yes, my lady?”

“This tea. Who left it here?”

“Commander Cullen. He’s visited you every day. Now, you must see Lady Cassandra in the Chantry now. You must!”

And she was gone. Anakin looked down at the tea, a warmth bubbling in her chest. She brought it closer to her nose, sniffing it delicately. She couldn’t control the smile that crossed her face, nor the slight flush that rose to her ears and neck. It was embrium tea. Breathing it in happily, she sipped at it carefully, the warmth restoring strength to her limbs and soothing her aching body. He remembered the recipe. How funny.

Once the tea was gone, Anakin started the arduous process of removing herself from the very comfortable bed. The clothes she’d been put in, despite their strange appearance, were very warm, and she found herself very appreciative of the craftsmanship. Then, leaning against the doorway, she found the two-handed sword that she had arrived to the Conclave with. Smiling happily, she strapped it to her back. She thought that it had been lost in the Fade, but apparently, Cassandra had been keeping it safe for her. How kind of her.

Careful to keep the weight off of her burned leg, Anakin left the cabin. The snow outside was head-piercingly bright without the green Breach coloring everything, and she sheltered her eyes from the glare of it as she took everything in.

It was one of the towns she’d passed on the way to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, the one with the mabari statues—the one she’d bought her birthday present to herself from. The Chantry was to the south of the town, she knew, and slowly she started walking there. She was treated with the uncomfortable sensation of having people stare and whisper as she walked. Yet, for all their staring, none of them seemed willing to help her to the Chantry, despite her obvious struggles.

Still, she made it there eventually. Upon entering the Chantry, she moved over to one of the pillars and sat down, resting her weary body. She couldn’t recall a time when she’d ever felt this _horrible._ Everything hurt—all her muscles, all her bones, even her lungs ached when she took in too deep of a breath. She was all too aware of every scrape, bruise, and burn on her body, especially that damned thigh wound. Sighing, she rested her head back against the pillar. She’d just gotten comfortable when she heard Cassandra’s furious voice crescendo from the furthest room. Anakin looked over slowly, realizing that Cassandra was arguing about her—arguing for her. Chancellor Roderick still seemed to think she should be executed.

Tired, Anakin lifted her knees to her chest and buried her face in the alcove between her legs and arms, the fetal position oddly comfortable. Then, she heard Chancellor Roderick spit a word Anakin had never heard to describe her before.

“ _Knife ear._ ”

Anakin wasn’t even hurt by it, not really. Still, it made her feel even more exhausted and she fiercely missed home. She thought of the quiet, careful elf who had told her Cassandra was looking for her, the way she’d flinched and cowered, and Anakin had to wonder how exactly elves were treated here.

A warm hand landed on her shoulder, and Anakin’s head shot up. A woman with beautiful dark hair tight around her head and the most amazing dress Anakin had ever seen was staring at her sympathetically.

“I’ll say something when I go in there,” she said, her voice soft and melodious. “But would you do me the honor of escorting me in there?”

“Who are you?”

“I am Josephine Montilyet. I’m an advisor for Cassandra and Leliana. It truly is an honor to meet you, Lady Lavellan.”

Anakin smiled shyly, standing with the help of Josephine. “The honor is all mine, Lady Montilyet, but please, call me Anakin.”

“Then you must do me the favor of calling me Josephine,” she replied easily, taking Anakin’s elbow the way lords and ladies did when they strolled gardens. There was a strength in her that Anakin hadn’t expected, and Anakin took the support gratefully. Together, they walked into the meeting room.

The second they entered, Chancellor Roderick was pointing an accusing finger. “Chain her,” he spat, hatred dripping from his words. Anakin shrunk into Josephine’s side. “I want her taken to Val Royeaux for execution immediately.”

Anakin felt Josephine stiffen, but before she could say anything, Cassandra slammed her hands down on the table. “Disregard that, and leave us immediately! Chancellor, _that includes you_.”

He looked like he was going to argue up until he saw Cassandra’s face, at which point he slunk away with a foul expression on his face. Josephine squeezed Anakin’s arm reassuringly. Cassandra sighed heavily, then looked at Anakin.

“The Breach is still in the sky,” she said stiffly, “even though it has been closed.”

Anakin slumped. “Shall we go try again?”

Leliana, who had been hiding in the shadows until this point, appeared, eyes sharp. “We do not believe that with the power we have now that the Breach can be sealed. Beyond that, we still need to find whoever it was that caused the Breach and killed the Most Holy. If we neglect the culprit, it may happen again, even if we close the Breach entirely.”

“Do you have any suspects?” Anakin asked. Leliana shook her head, but it wasn’t a no. “We have too many suspects to count, and no real way to investigate any of them.”

A sick, swooping sensation stole Anakin’s stomach, and after clearing her throat softly, she asked, “Am I still a suspect?”

She really, sincerely hoped not. She knew even better now how fierce and frightening Leliana and Cassandra were. Anakin wasn’t sure if she would do well if she was interrogated by them again, even though she truly had no idea what had happened.

“No,” Cassandra said. “We do not think that. Chancellor Roderick disagrees, citing your mark and your proximity as evidence against you. I, however, believe that both mark and your relation to the Most Holy as a mark of providence. I think that you were sent by the Maker to help us.”

Anakin bit back a gentle reminder that she didn’t believe in the Maker. Perhaps the Maker and Creators were one and the same, and hadn’t she and her Keeper felt that the Creators had sent her here for a reason? Perhaps Cassandra was more right than she realized, but still. It had to have been happenstance that Anakin was the one who’d been marked. Simply chance.

“I don’t know what to believe,” Anakin said quietly. “I think I will be very confused for a very long time.”

“You don’t need to know what’s happening,” Leliana said simply. “You just have to know whether you want to help us.”

Anakin felt the weight of Josephine’s, Cassandra’s, and Leliana’s stares on her, and straightened. “Of course I want to help you. I’ll do whatever I have to.”

“Your sacrifice is appreciated,” Josephine said, squeezing her arm again before moving away to join Leliana and Cassandra on the other side of the table. Anakin felt very small suddenly.

Cassandra gestured to a book on the table. “Do you know what this is?”

Anakin shook her head, inspecting the book curiously. It was old, with a strange symbol on the cover. Upon closer inspection, she realized it was the same eye and dagger as on Cassandra’s armor.

“This is from the Divine,” Cassandra said, a strange power infusing her voice. “It grants us the authority to act without the blessing of the Chantry, or any government, for that matter. Using this, we will create the Inquisition anew, and do whatever necessary to find who killed the Divine and who opened the Breach, they _will_ be brought to justice, and order _will_ be restored.”

“It will be hard,” Leliana added. “We have no real numbers, no plans, and we have alienated most of our support by keeping you safe, Lady Lavellan. However, we will do what we need to. Once more, we ask: will you stand with us against the chaos?”

Anakin didn’t even have to consider it. She’d already thrown her lot in with these people, and as much as she missed home, she could never leave the Inquisition and still respect herself. This was a noble cause, and one she would support. She twisted her hand over her heart in the elvhen pledge of fealty and bowed her head. “I will do _whatever necessary_ to help you,” she said, her voice hard. “Ma ghilana mir din’an.”

_Guide me into death._

Cassandra mimicked the gesture to the best of her abilities, bowing back to Anakin with a gleam of respect in her eyes. Then, she nodded her head briskly. “With that out of the way, we have much to do. Let us break for an hour, then reconvene with Commander Cullen.”

Anakin did not miss the way all eyes turned on her when his name was said. Josephine was smirking a bit. Anakin went bright red but said nothing. She and Cullen hadn’t talked yet. He’d been checking up on her, and if she concentrated, she could still taste the embrium tea he left her, but it was like she’d told him on the battlefield. Four years was a very long time.

“Is there anyone I could convince to carry a letter back to my clan for me?” Anakin asked, changing the subject hastily. Josephine stepped forward, gesturing with her writing tablet. “That would be me. I won’t carry it myself, of course, but I can find you some parchment and ink and get you a courier. Shall we?”

Anakin nodded gratefully and the two left as they had arrived, Josephine leading her to a small room nearby. She gestured to a massive desk.

“Sit. Take all the time you need. I’ll be out looking for a courier.”

Anakin nodded with a murmured thanks and sat, staring at the parchment blankly. How could she even begin to explain to her Keeper what had happened? Hesitantly, she started.

_Keeper Deshanna-_

_This is Anakin. A lot has happened since I left. I got to the Conclave safely, and I don’t know if you’ve already heard, but there was an attack. The Conclave has been scattered. The Chantry’s Divine is dead. Somehow, I was involved, but I can’t remember how. Do you or Mairon know any spells that could help with that? I know Mairon is more inclined to the fear spells, but if either of you could help, that would be great._

She paused, before scribbling, _Mairon. I miss you. I wish you were here. I know you’d probably cause trouble, but I could really use a familiar face, a friendly face. Besides, as nice as my companions are, I’d feel safer with you at my back, even if you tend to run at the first sight of trouble._

Anakin grinned wryly. She thought sometimes that the reason Mairon was so accomplished at fear spells was because she herself was so scared of battle. It was easy for her to conjure such terrible images because she couldn’t help imagining them either. Smile fading, she continued.

_I’m staying here, Keeper. Probably for longer than either of us can contemplate. Something is happening, though, something that the Creators need me here for. I will be praying to them for enlightenment and hints as to what they want me to do, but if you could try too, that would be nice. I could use some enlightenment. Speaking of, there’s another elf here. He’s an accomplished mage who deals with the Fade. His name is Solas. If you could ask around about him, that would be excellent._

_I’ve been marked by the Breach in the sky. We don’t know what it means yet, but I am the only one capable of closing the rifts that open. That’s why it’s so important that I stay here. They need me, and I need them to figure out how to get the mark off of me. It hurts. I would like it off soon, but not until all of the rifts have been closed for good._

_I can’t think of anything else to say. If you would like to hear anymore, send a letter back with the courier. I’ll try to get back to you as soon as possible._

_I miss you, Keeper. Dareth shiral._

_Anakin_

Sighing, Anakin folded the parchment, slipping it into her belt. Scrubbing her hand through her white hair, she went to leave Josephine’s room; however, she opened the door directly into someone standing outside of it. The resulting crack was nauseatingly loud, and Anakin jumped around the door, apologies spilling from her lips. The flow ceased very abruptly when she was greeted with the sight of Cullen clutching his nose and giving her a baleful look.

He looked so irritated that she couldn’t help it. She giggled before reaching up and moving his hands from his face.

“Let me see, lethallin. What were you doing so close to the door, anyway?”

“I was coming in to see you!” he said, voice thick and tone indignant. “I wasn’t prepared to be assaulted though, I must admit.”

She snorted. His noise wasn’t even bleeding. “You big baby. I’ve done worse to you those times we sparred!”

He was full on pouting now. “At least then I was expecting to be attacked. My heart hurts worse than my nose, Anakin. It aches.”

This was the happiest she’d felt in days. “Perhaps you’d like me to brew you some tea? Then again, maybe you’ve got a pot of it already brewed somewhere, hmm?”

He sighed. “You weren’t supposed to know it was me.”

She laughed at him. “Who else could it have been, Cullen? You and I are the only ones who make tea with embrium seeds, which I cannot imagine how you found up here, anyway.”

He blushed a bit and cleared his throat. “Embrium is shipped up to our healers. I simply get first pick of what is delivered to us.”

Anakin reached out to one of his big, slightly cold hands and squeezed it. “Well, it was an excellent surprise to wake up to. I was very grateful. I _am_ very grateful.”

Cullen didn’t move away from her, eyes solemn and so, so familiar. “Anakin, could we go talk somewhere?”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

He squeezed her hand. “This is chatting. We need to really talk. Cassandra updated me on what happened, but I’d like to hear from you too. More specifically, I’d like to know what’s happened in the past four years to bring you here.”

Anakin looked at him again. He was even taller and broader than she remembered, which was silly, because she’d grown a very tiny bit and she was pretty sure he hadn’t. If his hands were any indication, he was still cold despite his huge furry mantle. She wondered if he missed their warm little cabin with its nice furs back in the Vinmark Mountains.

“Lead the way,” she said softly.

 

He led her to his rooms. She knew that’s where they were because her sword, her sword from back when she was sixteen, was hanging on the wall. Cassandra had said so, but Anakin hadn’t really realized that it was true. Blinking slowly, she moved to it, running her fingertips down the flat of the blade.

“It’s been kept polished and sharp,” Cullen said from behind her. “I took care of it. It saved my life in Kirkwall, even if I couldn’t wield it properly.”

 _Of course it saved your life,_ she wanted to say. _You didn’t let me come with you to protect you, so my sword did in my place. I would have been ashamed if it had done any less._

Rather than say any of that, Anakin moved over his bed and sat on it. Her bed, as nice as it had been, wasn’t even as good as Cullen’s.

“What do you want to know?” she asked, not looking at him. Still, he stepped in her line of sight, hands coming up to gently brush where she knew her vallaslin was.

“When did you change these?” was his first question. For a second, what he’d said didn’t register. Then, Anakin’s hands flew to her face.

“Change them? I did no such thing. What’s changed?”

He frowned. “Maybe my memory is tricking me. However, I swear when we met, the ink was white. Now it’s a strange yellow-green. The color is familiar—“

The mark on her hand sparked yellow-green. Their eyes met slowly.

“Did you know the Fade could do that?” she asked slowly. He shook his head, eyes fixed on her vallaslin. “How strange,” he whispered. “What a thing to change.”

“What about my hair?” she said, voice a little panicked. “Is it green too? I don’t want green hair.”

He laughed a bit, running a hand through her hair. It felt very nice. “No,” he said. “It’s still white. I, uh. I cleaned it while you were asleep. There was a lot of ash in it after the battle and, well. I thought you would like to wake up with clean hair.”

Anakin smiled at him. “Thank you. It was nice of you to think of.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said back, voice gentle. There was a moment of silence, the two of them simply smiling at each other, when the awkwardness of what they were doing hit Anakin and she coughed, pulling away from the hand in her hair.

“Well, then. Any other questions?”

Cullen moved to sit on the bed next to her, removing his sword and setting it aside. “How did you come to be Lady Cassandra’s prisoner? Why were you here at the Conclave in the first place?”

“I was sent here by the Keeper, to show that the Dalish weren’t going to simply sit by and let the fate of the world be decided without us. I don’t really know why she sent me, but I’m glad she did. Who knows what would have happened if someone else had come? Not that I’m saying I’m the only one who could have done this, but you never know how small things can change everything, you know?” Anakin quieted quickly, embarrassed.

Cullen nodded understandingly. “No, I know what you mean,” he said. “Don’t be embarrassed, I know what you meant.”

She nodded quickly, still not looking at him. How was it that just by being around him, she became the flustered sixteen year old again? For the Creators’ sake, she hadn’t even been this silly when she _had_ been sixteen. This was ridiculous. She was talking about something _serious_.

“What about what happened after the Conclave?” he prodded gently. She nodded yet again, refocusing.

“Right. Um. Something happened. I don’t know what, but I woke up in what must have been the Fade. It was strange there. I was—“ she stopped, inhaled sharply, and continued, “—I was scared. There was a woman there. I don’t know who she was. She was made of light, and she helped me escape. The next thing I remember was waking up with my hands bound.”

She felt Cullen stiffen before relaxing with a soft laugh. “It’s hard for me to hear this, you know. I understand as a commander that you were a threat, an unknown that needed to be assessed, but as a man, I hate to think of you in that situation.”

Anakin’s heart did a very familiar funny little flip and she smiled at her hands. All those old thoughts of Cullen being meant for her, her hellathen and maybe something more, were coming back. Where was Mairon when she needed her?

“I can take care of myself, Cullen,” she reminded him, finally turning to face him. He was already looking at her, his brows creased with some sort of tension. It felt strangely hard to break eye contact with him, so she didn’t. She just looked.

“I know,” he said earnestly. “I know. But I told you I want to be able to protect you, and it’s true. I want to be what you were from me. You believed in me, and I believe in you too. I just want to be somewhere safe for you, when the world feels like too much.”

 _This is too much_ , she wanted to say, wanted to scream. _You’re too much. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know you anymore, and you don’t know me._

Yet, that wasn’t entirely true, was it? Something in her recognized something in him, and vice versa. No, it wasn’t love, but it was affection and it was trust, both of which were something Anakin could use. She didn’t have to read into this. It could just be an offer of protection.

Her voice was a whisper. “Thank you. I’m going to need someone in my corner.”

His heavy arm wrapped around her shoulder, but she didn’t feel trapped. She felt safe, and she leaned into his body. If she wasn’t mistaken, he gently placed a kiss on her hair.

“I will always be in your corner,” he said. His voice wasn’t fierce, wasn’t angry, but there was an undeniable truth to it. Anakin let herself feel safe in his arms.

It was so familiar. The silence, the sound of Cullen’s breathing, and she thought back to a hot day years, the two of them near naked and lying on the bank of a river, wet, warm, tired, and so lost in each other. This feeling of peace, this happiness—she’d forgotten it. She’d forgotten how consuming it was. Still, it was something she didn’t want to give up. This was why she’d been willing to give up her clan for him. This was why she hadn’t been able to forget him for years upon years with no contact. This was why she couldn’t be angry at him, even when he’d left her and kept her from following.

“How did you come to be here?” she asked after a long, long silence. She didn’t move from his side. He stirred gently and she wondered if he’d been dozing on her.

“In the weeks after the rebellion in Kirkwall,” he started, voice low and rumbling, “the city was a mess. No one was in charge. There were bodies everywhere, and there was no clear winner to the first rebellion. A woman I knew, a very strong woman named Aveline Vallen, took over Kirkwall. I have no doubt she was the best woman for the job, but I was left adrift. I didn’t know what to do, or who I was anymore. I wasn’t a Templar. I had no soldiers, no purpose, and I honestly considered returning to you. I really did. I didn’t know what was waiting for me; I didn’t know if _you_ were waiting for me. Before I could decide, Cassandra appeared and asked me to help her find someone who could unite the mages and Templars. It was a noble cause, so I agreed, and the years have brought me here.”

Anakin considered this and what would have happened. They would have moved by then—the weeks after Kirkwall were spent getting as far away from Kirkwall as possible. Mairon, younger than Anakin, had been fifteen at the time, and no one wanted her around such a toxic place, let alone anyone else. If Cullen had even been able to find them, he likely wouldn’t have been welcomed. A shemlen, a Templar, someone who’d taken her from the clan; no, no one would have appreciated his presence, especially Keeper Deshanna. It was then that Anakin considered what she would have done, and came to the conclusion that she would have run away with him all over again. In fact, she probably would have followed him to a shem town. She would have given herself to him completely and without regret.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” she said finally. “It seems we were always going to meet again anyway, and you belong here. The Inquisition needs you.”

“It needs you too,” Cullen said. “Maybe even more than it needs me. After all, I can’t close the rifts.”

“And I can’t lead an army,” Anakin said, hitting her head against his shoulder in a soft reprimand. “So I suppose we’ll both have to stay and do our jobs.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

He was quiet, and then he spoke with a strange fervency. “Anakin, listen—“

There was a knock at the door. Cullen let out a frustrated breath, but before they could move apart, Leliana was opening the door. Anakin made to move away, but again, Cullen held her close.

“Yes?” he said, a little sharp, but not enough to be considered disrespectful. There was something about the way that Leliana’s eyes raked over them that let Anakin know that there would be no secrets from her. Anakin swallowed hard. It was times like this that she wished she was a bit smarter, or a bit more manipulative. As it was, all she could do was lean closer to Cullen to present a united front and hope Leliana wouldn’t tear them apart.

“If you’ve finished your letter,” Leliana said in her deliberate voice, “I can have a raven deliver it faster than one of Josie’s couriers.”

Anakin couldn’t think of a polite way to say _I think if I give you my letter then you’ll read it with no care for my privacy,_ so she stood and gave Leliana her letter without a word. Leliana whispered in her ear, “We’ll be talking about this in our meeting. Be prepared.”

She pulled back and said to Cullen, “The meeting is in ten minutes. I’d wrap up any business you have.”

She turned and left in a swirl of purple robes. Anakin inched back to Cullen’s bed and told him in a very, very quiet voice. “She scares me.”

“I think she could assassinate us all in our sleep,” Cullen whispered back. Anakin nodded. Good to have her fears confirmed. Still, it was nice of her to warn Anakin that she was going to be interrogated.

“She said that we’re going to be asked about how we know each other,” she said. “What do you want to tell them?”

“Well, I’m definitely going to bring up the way that I soundly defeated you in a water fight,” he teased, eyes warming. She grinned back at him delightedly.

“Are you going to mention that once you won by groping a poor, innocent sixteen-year old’s breast?”

He flushed, but didn’t look away, instead arching an eyebrow. “I didn’t take you for the type to be outspoken about that.”

Her stomach swooped, in a good way, and she shot back, “Remember when I happily bathed naked with you while you blushed and stuttered like a sex-obsessed shem?”

“I do,” he said, voice going deep. “We’ll have to see about trying that out again.”

He was never this suave before. He was _never_ this suave before, and Anakin felt the heat rise to her cheeks, her ears, her neck, even her forehead it felt like, and she looked away, eyes wide.

“After all,” he continued, his voice still dark in a way she’d never heard before. As he walked past her, he put a hand at the small of her back and murmured in her ear, “You’re not a child anymore, Anakin.”

Anakin felt like she’d been hit by a rockslide as Cullen walked out of the door, leaving her stunned. This was _not_ what she’d expected. Where was her sweet, stuttering and blushing Templar? Where had he gone?

“Are you coming?” his voice echoed through the halls and Anakin stuttered into movement. When she finally got her balance back, she would have to see about getting him back. For now, she had to regroup, and also maybe ask someone for help. Varric seemed like he’d be willing to help her.


	3. The Wretched and Joyful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To the Hinterlands and back! (Part 1)

Things start and they don’t stop. Anakin doesn’t really know how else to explain it. One minute, she’s in Cullen’s room, and the next she’s been catapulted headfirst into an outright war, and she doesn’t mean battle. Suddenly, there are strategies, and meetings, and armies, and recruitment, and money, and spies, and it all just starts and never, ever stops. The day is over faster than Anakin thought it could end. After hours of discussing politics with Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen, she’s exhausted and near passing out. Josephine is the one who notices and sends her away. Cullen kisses her hand before she leaves and she can still feel his lips burning on her skin.

She walks out of town entirely. She had been sent on several small errands earlier, and one had revealed to her a small hut outside of town. It had been home of the old apothecary, but he had died from the first wave of enemies from the Fade.  Consequently, it was left abandoned. After a quick talk with Leliana, the place was hers, and Anakin was eager to fall in the warm, furred bed. The night was freezing, her breath misting the air in front of her, and the stars and moon had only cold light, never the warmth of the sun. By his hut, she could see Solas sitting easily on the snowbanks, staring up at the stars, and his face was as cold and distant as everything else. Shivering, she moved on. He seemed to be the only person still out, other than the occasional drunkard spilling from the town’s tiny tavern, and she didn’t want to disturb him in whatever it was he was doing.

The walk to the hut had her near frozen, and she slammed the door behind her a bit too eagerly. Sighing, she looked around. Was there even a fireplace here? No wonder the old man had died. It didn’t matter. She could easily build a small fire pit next to her bed. Her shoulders sagged softly at the thought. She missed the warmth of the Free Marches. She even missed the humidity, which had been a curse while she was there.

Drained, physically and emotionally, Anakin limped her way to the bed, the burn on her thigh returning with a fiery vengeance. She sat down on the bed heavily and decided she didn’t need a fire that badly. Surely Solas could revive her if she froze to death. He had saved her life twice already anyway. She took off her boots, but didn’t bother with anything else, grateful for the pajama-like, cotton soft nature of the clothes she’d been given. Slowly, painfully, she curled up under the furs and desperately missed her clan.

Varric was the one to wake her in the morning, and he did it surprisingly gently. She woke up to soft calls of, “Wake up, sugar. Sun’s up, which means you have to be too. Come on, upsy daisy.”

Her eyes fluttered open slowly and she looked at him groggily. He was leaning against a wall, staring at her with an unreadable expression. Anakin gave him a small smile before yawning.

“Good morning, Varric. How was your night?

“Long and cold, the way all Ferelden nights are,” he said easily. “Really puts the hair on my chest, you know?”

She looked at his chest compulsively. There was a truly impressive amount of beautiful, curly golden hairs. She nodded, impressed.

“Very nice. Are all dwarves this spectacular?”

He put a hand to his chest as though wounded, and gasped dramatically, “You wound me! As if any dwarf or his chest could be as impressive as mine.”

Anakin laughed, slipping out of bed and into her boots. “My apologies, Sir Varric and chest hair. I shall not impugn you the same way again.”

He grinned at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “We sure do appreciate that. Now, Cassandra’s been wanting to see you for an hour. I convinced her she had to wait for the sun to rise, but she’s probably getting pretty impatient. How are you holding up, by the way? You’ve had a lot of shit happen to you in a very short period of time.”

Anakin’s smile faded as she walked closer to Varric, the two exiting the cabin in a slow, sedate manner that was not nearly the urgency she was sure Cassandra would have preferred. “I don’t know. It is a lot. But someone has to do it, right? And if we’re the only ones, then I guess it has to be us.”

Varric’s face had become exceptionally grim, too. “I don’t know, sugar. I’ve seen a lot of terrible things in my time. I don’t think this will take a hero; it’s going to take a miracle, and I don’t know if anyone can pull this off.”

Anakin managed to smile. “I wouldn’t worry so. The Creators know what they’re doing, and they wouldn’t give us something we couldn’t handle.”

Varric’s eyes slanted to hers, a strange twist to his mouth. “I didn’t know you had a strong faith in the Creators.”

“A lot of elves don’t, sometimes even Dalish elves. I don’t see how they couldn’t, though. So much stuff happens exactly as it should—how can that not be divine? Even this. As bad as things are, we’re working to make them better.”

“That’s some optimism you have there, sugar,” Varric said. A wistful expression crossed his face. “Makes me miss Daisy, a little bit.”

“Daisy?” Anakin asked softly as they walked up the stairs between the mabari statues.

“Merrill, of the Clan Sabrae?”

Anakin couldn’t stop herself from recoiling the slightest bit. “The blood mage.”

Varric met her eyes plainly, a little bit of anger creasing his face. “Merrill was a lot more than that, and I’d thank you to remember that.”

Anakin bowed her head apologetically. “I understand. I may disapprove, but it’s not my place to judge. Ir abelas.”

Varric sighed and shook his head wearily. “No one approves of blood magic, sugar, not even me, but I get real tired of people assuming that that’s all there is to her when she’s also one of the sweetest, most loyal friends I’ve ever had.”

Anakin nodded slowly. “I understand.”

Varric sighed. “You don’t, but that’s okay. You have to meet her to really understand.”

They were quiet the rest of the walk, and Anakin felt guilty for it. It was too easy to judge, but she would have to work on that. There would be all sorts of people flocking to the Inquisition, according to Josephine, and Anakin had to be prepared to accept near or all of them. They reached the steps of the Chantry and Anakin gently grabbed Varric’s shoulder before he could finish turning away to leave her at the mercy of those inside.

“Varric,” she said softly. “I truly am sorry. I know nothing of your friends—all of them, not just Merrill—other than what word-of-mouth has reached my clan. I had no right to judge them.”

He gave her a half-hearted smile. “Really, sugar, I’m over it. Now go face the music. Then again, I’m talking about Cassandra, so perhaps it would be more apt to say go face the lions.”

Anakin smiled back wryly. “Yes, sir.” She was about to turn away when she remembered something very suddenly. “Varric!”

He turned to look at her, eyebrow raised. She smiled, slightly embarrassed. “If you have the time or inclination, would you be interested in helping me knock Cullen down a peg or two?”

He laughed, surprised. “Now, why would you want to do something like that?”

She couldn’t help blushing. “He was teasing me yesterday, you see, and I want to give him a little payback, but I think I could use your creativity. I’m not the best at that, myself.”

“My dear lady,” he said seriously. “I am simply the best there is at creativity. I’ll be thinking during your meeting, alright?”

She nodded, smiling brightly, and turned into the Chantry.

It would never stop surprising her, the way the atmosphere changed upon entering a Chantry. A silence fell, a silence similar to what she imagined the Dalish temples of old used to possess. No matter the time of day, there was the same distant, golden light that lit the pathways, but not much else. Huts still had a sort of natured feel to them. There was nothing natural about the Chantry. It was all carved and modernized stone, and cold halls lined with colder statues.

“Lavellan!”

Anakin started guiltily and sped walk to the rest of the way to Cassandra, whose mouth was curled in a moue of impatience. “You’re needed in the Hinterlands,” she said curtly, although Anakin had realized by this point that said-curtness was just general impatience, not frustration with Anakin herself. Usually.

“There are small Fade rifts popping out of every hill and hollow,” she continued, striding impatiently towards their de facto war room, “and you and I will go and handle them.”

“Will Varric and Solas be coming?” Anakin asked, cheering up a bit at the thought of getting away from these dreadfully cold mountains. Cassandra snorted.

“If you would like, although why anyone would want that damned dwarf around is beyond me.”

Anakin smiled, glancing out the side of her eye to see Cassandra on the verge of pouting. “He’s a very warm person.”

She wasn’t sure, but Cassandra may have grumbled, “ _I’m_ warm too.”

Anakin chose not to answer that.

Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen were already gathered around the war table. When they walked in, Cullen shot to his feet, almost knocking over his chair.

“Lady Cassandra,” he greeted cordially, before turning bright eyes on to her. “Lady Anakin.”

She dipped her head at him, smiling back. “Commander.”

Cassandra sighed powerfully. “Is this going to be a problem?”

Cullen and Anakin both turned to her with wide eyes. Josephine giggled. “Oh, let them have their fun, Cassandra. You should have seen how eagerly Cullen has been anticipating her arrival. It was too-“

“I was not anticipating your arrival!” Cullen protested before flushing. “Or rather, I was, but no more than I was anticipating Cassandra’s—oh never mind. Let’s just get to it, shall we?”

Anakin found herself sharing a look with Leliana, who shook her head in amusement. “Let’s,” Cassandra said loudly. “Now, I’ve already informed Anakin that we will be going to scout the Hinterlands. Now we must decide where to send our other forces. Anakin, what’s your opinion?”

Anakin looked away from Leliana with wide eyes. “Um.”

“You are an indelible part of this process, Anakin.” Josephine said gently, eyes sparkling. “Your opinion matters.”

“But I don’t know anything about fighting a war beyond swinging my sword!”

“Which is why this is a democracy,” Leliana said smoothly. “We’ll all keep each other from making silly mistakes, yes?”

Anakin nodded slowly and Leliana unraveled a piece of parchment.

“All right,” she announced. “The first order of business—Lady Lavellan, we received a raven back from your clan. Shall I read it?”

There was no polite way to ask to read it in private, so Anakin nodded slowly.

“My dear Anakin,” Leliana started. “While I am glad to hear that you are all right despite all the goings-on, I am saddened by the news that you will be apart from us longer. Still, I know that this was the right path for you, as hard as it may be. I don’t need to speak with the Creators to know that.”

Anakin felt tears pricking at her eyes. As subtly as she could, she brushed at them. Cassandra’s shoulder suddenly nudged hers. Looking up, Cassandra was still focused on Leliana, but her shoulder was still a spot of warmth against her. Anakin looked back to Leliana.

“I’m afraid I don’t know any spells to assist memories. Mairon says that she can give you false memories, but not true ones. She apologizes for that—and here,” Leliana said, breaking her storytelling voice, “there is a scribbled note in a noticeably different hand that apologizes once more, accompanied by a rather—artistically done—crying face.”

Anakin laughed. She couldn’t help it, imagining what sort of grotesque monstrosity Mairon had seen fit to pen.

“In any case, we’ll send out the word. The Sabrae clan in particular might know something. They do specialize in magic of the body and brain, in any case. As for your mage elf—I can’t say I have heard of him, nor have I heard of any mage who specialized in the Fade. We are all taught to leave it alone, as you well know. Only the Somniari should hold the secrets of the Fade. We will also investigate him. Still, it is good that he is around to help you now. As for your mark; do what you must, da’len. That is all the advice I can offer. Dareth Shiral. Keeper Deshanna.”

Slowly, Leliana rerolled the parchment. “So I see you’ve been investigating a companion,” she said silkily. The hair on the back of Anakin’s neck rose.

“It’s not like that,” she said quickly. “I was just curious.”

“It’s all right, Anakin” Cullen said, shooting Leliana a dirty look. “We’ve investigated him as well. We just haven’t been able to find anything. Perhaps the Dalish will have a better idea, hmm, Lady Leliana?”

Leliana shrugged, wholly unconcerned.  “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps we should send some of our men to help the Dalish?” Josephine suggested. “We have some decent researchers, after all.”

“I wouldn’t,” Anakin said hastily. “They don’t have the best attitude towards shem. I’m a bit of an anomaly, to be honest.” She and Cullen shared a meaningful look while Josephine nodded thoughtfully.

“Very well, but we must bring it up again at a later date. We can’t have the clan of our savior remain unprotected, yes?”

Anakin chose not to argue that the clan could defend themselves and instead cleared her throat and asked, “Next?”

And so the meeting went. By the end of it, Josephine was to take her people to Val Royeaux to argue the legitimacy of the Inquisition and, by extension, Anakin herself; Leliana was to speak to what they called the Teryn of Highever, which Anakin understood to be a lord of some sort; and Cullen was to stay and train the troops while Anakin and company were to make their way to the Hinterlands.

“When do we leave?” Anakin asked Cassandra as the war table was set back to order. She was hoping it wouldn’t be too early the next morning. After all, she and Cullen still had to talk, she and Varric had a prank to plan, and perhaps she should establish a greater rapport with Solas? Anyway, it would take the rest of the day at least to do all of this—

“We leave now, or as soon as we can gather our party,” Cassandra said, pulling her gloves on tightly.

“Now?” Anakin squeaked.

“Do you have something better to be doing?” Cassandra demanded. Guiltily, Anakin flicked her eyes to where Cullen was looking back at her across the table. Somehow, Cassandra saw and let out what was possibly the most impressive noise of disgust Anakin had ever heard. Anakin immediately went red and, appropriately cowed, followed Cassandra out of the room.

“Go get your sword,” she instructed, “and see if you can find Varric or Solas on your way. If you and our Commander insist on making moon eyes at each other, I’ll have him saddle your horse for you and you can say goodbye then.”

Anakin gave her a grateful look before dashing off. Halfway down the Chantry corridor, she stopped and slowly made her way back to Cullen’s room under the watchful eye of Cassandra. Ducking in, she walked to where her sword hung, gleaming on the wall. With soft, reverent hands, she lifted it from its pegs, hefting its familiar weight. Cullen had taken good care of it indeed. It was lighter than she remembered, or she was stronger, but the grip fit her hands perfectly. This sword was _hers_. Holding it carefully, she left his room. Cassandra nodded at her, eyes flickering to her sword, as she went to leave once again, pace much more sedate this time.

Solas was easy enough to find, standing outside the new apothecary’s hut, and seemed amenable to leaving for the Hinterlands. “There was something there I wanted to investigate anyway,” was his only oblique comment. Varric was easy to find as well, warming his hands by a rather large fire.

“Varric!” she called. He turned to her with a wide grin and a mischievous light in his eyes.

“Sugar! I have some _great_ ideas—“

“I’m afraid we’ll have to put them on hold,” she said, disappointed. He had seemed so excited. His ideas probably would have been _gold_ , she could feel it. “Duty calls. Cassandra says we’re to scout the Hinterlands.”

Varric sighed. “Aw, shit. I think there’s a couple villages down there with people I owe money living in them. Pranking our dear Cullen would have been a much better use of my time.”

Still, he wandered off with little grumbling and no further instruction, and Anakin was struck with the realization that these people had worked together longer than she expected. They had a method, a camaraderie she was not yet a part of. Once again, homesickness hit her powerfully, but she shook it off. She would make friends. These people could be like her family in time, and from the looks of the world, time with them was something she had plenty of.

Luckily, she was able to remember where the stables were after her day of quest-chasing yesterday, and she made her way there, stepping uncaringly into mud and snow. True, it was a lot colder on her bare feet than the Free Marches had been (the dear, dear Free Marches), but she was a Dalish elf. The sense and security she got from the earth was more than worth the chill.

Knocking on the stable door tentatively, she slowly peeked inside. Sure enough, Cullen was there, gently brushing out a small palomino horse. He looked up at her and smiled before whispering something in the horse’s ear.

“Are you telling stories?” she said teasingly, stepping inside.

“All sorts,” he said seriously, “but specifically nasty ones.”

Laughing, Anakin softly took the horse’s face in her hands and looked into its intelligent eyes. “Don’t you go listening to him,” she scolded. “I may not be a very good rider, but by the Creators, I’ll love you right.”

Cullen’s warm hand settled on her shoulder.

“Anakin.”

His voice was strange, soft and almost somber. She turned to look at him questioningly.

“I’m very sorry that we won’t be having our talk.”

“You don’t need to apologize—“ she started, but he interrupted, shaking his head.

“It’s not that I’m apologizing. I meant to say that I’m disappointed we won’t be having our talk. I think that there’s a lot left unsaid between us, and we may not particularly want certain words to be spoken.”

She placed her hand on top of his, smiling uncertainly. His face matched his voice. His normally warm eyes were dark, and his forehead was lined with stress. She moved her hand from his to brush against the tight line of his jaw, stubble sliding across her fingers as she cupped his face. “I would like to think that if a few years wasn’t enough to diminish our friendship, lethallin, then a few words won’t do so either.”

He leaned into her hand, eyes still troubled. “I’m not sorry for leaving you in the forest.”

She swallowed back the instinctive hurt. “Well. I think it wasn’t your choice to make, but I can’t argue the outcome.”

His hand slid from her shoulder to the curve of her hip, turning his face so that his lips rested against her fingers. She could feel the scar on his mouth against the inside curve of her middle finger. Her heart started beating much faster than was strictly necessary.

“I am _very_ glad to see you again,” he murmured, words slightly muffled from her hand.

“I bet you weren’t as happy to see me on that battlefield as I was to see you,” Anakin managed to whisper back, voice a bit raspy. He smiled, and she was treated to the wonderful experience of feeling his crooked little grin against her skin. His second hand slid down to her other hip and he lifted her near effortlessly to place her on the saddle. She placed her hands on his shoulders as she sat side-saddle, despite the discomfort, in order to prolong the moment.

“We can argue it when you get back, lethallan,” he said, his smile still ghosting across his face. “You need to go save the world now.”

For what felt like the millionth time that day, her face grew warm. Before she could argue either point, he slapped the rear of her horse and she had to scramble into proper sitting position before she lost her balance and fell.

She didn’t realize until she was halfway down the mountain and Varric had finished laughing at her that he hadn’t noticed that she’d taken her sword back.

 

The Hinterlands introduced Anakin to the most unpleasant fact that the sun being out was no indication of the day’s actual warmth. In fact, while the sun was shining, their water jugs could still be completely iced over inside. Anakin hated the cold, it was decided.

Beyond that, the Hinterlands weren’t too bad. They were vast—so, so vast—and there were lots of people who needed help, but they were also beautiful, and good people who lived there. Then again, there were also the apostates and Templars.

“Why do I have to kill them?” she had asked the dwarf woman who’d been introduced as Scout Harding. “I don’t want to kill either of them!”

“While you’re over here not killing either of them,” Harding had replied, “they’re over there killing innocents by the dozen.”

And that simplified things, didn’t it? It didn’t matter that every Templar fighting could be someone like Cullen, someone who wanted to change and speak out, but hadn’t yet found the courage. It didn't matter that every mage could be as important to someone else as Mairon was to her. What mattered was that both the apostates and the Templars were firmly on a different side than her, and according to the laws of war, that meant Anakin had to kill them.

The night after her first real battle with them, she cried into her fur sleeping bag until it was her turn to take watch. Before, she’d only ever killed animals and demons. While she stared up at the stars that night, she was fiercely grateful that Cullen hadn’t let her go to the Kirkwall revolution. She could only imagine how her sixteen year old self would cope with becoming a murderer. As it was, she didn’t think she’d ever forget the face of her first kill—a young human mage, with curly brown hair, a snub nose, and watery blue eyes that had become even bluer when she died of drowning in her own blood, the red vessels popped all over. Anakin would never forget the sound either, the sick crunch and sicker _schlurp_ made from her sword cleanly piercing her through her right lung, audible even over the sounds of battle.

Still, Anakin hadn’t been able to punish the young scout they’d found, mourning the loss of her apostate lover. Indeed, somehow she’d ended up with another spy for Leliana instead. She wasn’t entirely sure how it happened, but she suspected it had something to do with the way Varric had muttered to her on the walk back.

There was also the strange realization that while there were of course still shemlen who hated elves, there were more still that were too concerned with living through the next day to care much about what the person next to them had ears like. It was a joy unlike anything else to take the hand of the elvhen healer she’d found and tell her, earnestly and fiercely, “I’m an elf too, but times are changing. In a place like this, I promise you, the people don’t care whether the person healing them has knife ears or not. Help them, I beg of you. They may surprise you.”

And the elf had listened, and one of the places most ravaged by the war between Templars and apostates had itself a proficient and kind healer.

Of course, Anakin couldn’t forget the other elf woman she’d met, a widow named Maura-- the story of how her magic-less husband had been tilling the fields when struck dead by a Templar convinced he was a mage-- threatened Anakin’s sleep still, even when she’d brought Maura the wedding band and made her peaceable. For days after, she dreamed of Mairon, bright and vivid as a flame, dancing through the woods before being felled by a faceless Templar, the blood-red sword on his or her armor bright enough to sear an afterimage in her eyes even after she awoke.

Once, she dreamed Cullen was the one who killed Mairon. Thankfully, it was a preposterous enough idea that it seemed downright silly in the day.

Meanwhile, between all the running around and fighting, Anakin found herself growing quite close with her comrades, albeit in different ways.

Varric was a godsend, bright and warm, even when he was sad and cold. On those days, it was easy enough to take his hand and chatter at him, reminding him that he wasn’t alone, even if they weren’t the company he preferred. She heard a great many stories on other days, days he was happier, about all of his companions. The tales of Fenris and Anders bickering deep into the night and early in the morning, about everything from laws and morality to colors and food, never failed to amuse. She even caught Solas and Cassandra laughing at them a few times. Add in a clueless Merrill to the stories, and they became downright hysterical.

Isabela the pirate queen sounded like quite the character too. It was hard to imagine forgiving someone of such trespass and trouble as she had caused, but Anakin supposed it would be different if it was she who had been fighting alongside Isabela. Sebastian seemed to her to be a little like those shemlen who didn’t hate the Dalish, but rather pitied them, because they saw themselves as so much better and advanced when compared to her people. Despite this, it was clear that he had a good heart and strong values, something Varric spoke of with the strangest heartache.

Still, Anakin’s favorite person to hear about was Hawke, something she shared in common with Cassandra. There’d been many an evening where she and Cassandra had stayed up late, discussing in hushed tones what Hawke must have been thinking and feeling when she accomplished what she did. The first time Varric had tried to explain to her what Hawke meant to him, it clicked easily in place.

“She is your hellathen,” she had told him, clear and confident.

“That’s a word I don’t know, sugar,” he had admitted.

“She’s your hellathen, your noble struggle,” she said, working hard to explain it. (“She’s a struggle, all right,” Varric had mumbled.) “She is your task, your purpose, what the Creators have sent you to teach you who you truly are, why you were born to this world. It all comes back to her, and it always will.”

Varric had needed some alone time after that, but the next time she heard him talking to Cassandra about Hawke, he called her his hellathen.

Cassandra was easy enough to bond with once Anakin understood her. She was fierce and strong, dedicated and brave, but she was also strongly emotional. Anakin loved talking with her about Hawke, and Cassandra was very interested in hearing Anakin’s stories about her clan. In particular, she liked trying to understand her religion, but her home life seemed interesting too. Also, despite the fact that she had never met Mairon, only heard stories, she hated her entirely.

“Too uncontrolled,” she insisted when Anakin had laughingly asked why. “A complete risk all around, and that’s not even going into her magic, of which she seems all too interested in the forbidden.”

Despite this, she liked hearing stories about Mairon, for seemingly no other purpose than to rile herself up. Anakin quickly found that despite her initial fear of Cassandra, she quite liked her, even when it seemed on occasion that the feeling was not entirely mutual. The fact of it was that she was too peaceable and hesitant to get along with brash, headstrong Cassandra all the time.

Solas, on the other hand, was a mystery from start to finish. Anakin did not get along with him as well, despite all attempts to fix this. His disdain for the Dalish was their primary clash. He was, admittedly, her favorite night time companion, as there was no past time more soothing than lying next to him and finding the constellations he pointed out to her, whispering stories and fables of eons ago. She was learning more about her elvhen ancestors than she ever could have imagined, and sometimes she was hard pressed to not write down everything he said as he said it so she wouldn’t forget, but he still carried that dislike of the Dalish in near everything he said. Soon, they mutually agreed to stop bringing it up around the other, and sailing was a lot smoother from there on out.

Her favorite story of his was one about a shem named Tamlin. “Have you ever heard of it?” he asked as they stared up at the stars.

“No. Is he a constellation too?”

“No. He was a simple shem, thousands of years ago, who was taken by one of the reigning elves at the time to serve as amusement at court. He served well indeed, providing songs and dances of the likes they’d never seen. Still, the elvhen were eternal then, and eternity is a long time for someone, especially a shemlen, to entertain a very fickle race.”

“Oh no,” she’d whispered, and he’d laughed at her fears.

“No worry, da’len—“ and somehow, he’d started calling her that and she had yet to mind—“this story ends happily. A common elf, one who’d never seen the courts, was wandering one day into the forests that surrounded the entrance to the royal castle, despite it being strictly forbidden. She ran across Tamlin and knew that he was her One, and they’d lain together in the grass and flowers. He whispered to her the story of how he was captured, and that he was going to be sacrificed to Andruil soon, and she knew she had to stop it. A week later, at the procession to Andruil’s grove, she appeared from the shadows to seize him from the white horse he rode. The royal mage, enraged, turned Tamlin into all manner of beast and thing, for he knew he could not harm another elf, but still had hopes of frightening her into releasing the shemlen. Still, she held him fast, not let him go, for he was her heart’s desire.”

His voice had taken a strange tone, almost singing, and she understood why he called this a ballad. She wondered what it sounded like when sung in the elvhen tongue, and wished she spoke the full language, not just the remnants the Dalish had clung to through their captivity.

“She held him, when he was a lion, when he was a boar, when he was nothing but wind, and when he became a hot coal. She held him close, and so she won her love. Together they lived and raised the child they’d made, the first half-elf, and arguably the most loved.”

Yes, Anakin really liked that story.

Still, despite the days of peace and the days of war, eventually it was clear that they needed to make their way back to Haven. They needed Cullen to send men to build watchtowers for the man who ran what amounted to the entire horse trade in Ferelden, Varric had found plagiarized and mutilated copies of his hit series, _Hard in Hightown_ , and was in a frothing rage, and they had found mysterious glowing objects that Solas needed books back at his hut to study. Anakin patted her horse’s nose and was simply glad that she was going to have an actual bed again, after three weeks without.

“Do we have everything?” Cassandra asked from astride her own horse before growling, “Because if we have to lose a day’s travel again, because _someone_ forgot their Dalish toy soldier…”

Anakin flinched and checked her bags. Yes, she had the little toy she’d taken from the ruins of a campsite. “I think we’re good,” she said meekly.

Cassandra sighed but softened marginally. “Good. It was unsettling to see you so distraught.”

Sometimes, Anakin remembered the way they called her child and wondered if they thought her a child still, despite the mark on her hand and her death count. To be fair, carrying a toy around probably didn’t help her image.

Either way, they were off soon enough, slowly making their way up a thin, loose path more suited to deer and hallas than horses and soldiers.

“This isn’t the way I went to Haven the first time,” Anakin said, looking around at the increasing snow. Varric shot her a look too quick to read as Cassandra snapped, “It’s a shortcut.”

Oh, dear. The look Varric had given her was fear. “Cassandra,” Anakin said timidly. “Um. Where’s the map?”

Cassandra was quiet for a long moment before snarling, “I left it at camp.”

The look of glee that spread over Varric’s face was unholy. Anakin exchanged a terrified look with Solas before she managed to hit Varric with a pebble kept in a sack on hand for emergencies such as these—that is, emergencies when Varric was going to push Cassandra over the edge of her sanity. While Varric gave her an injured look, Solas hastily rode to the front.

“How about I take over directions for a while?” he said calmly. “You look tired, after all.”

“Just say it,” she snapped tersely. “I’m terrible at directions and you’re all afraid I’ll lead us off a cliff.”

There was a long meaningful silence, and with one of her signature snorts of disgust, she gave up that lead. As she rode past Anakin, she said, “Give me those pebbles. I want to pelt them at the dwarf too.”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

The argument that ensued set the tone for the rest of the journey, and by the time Solas got them safely to Haven, everyone was exhausted and mildly bitter. Varric capped it all off by shouting as he rode into town, “I’m so glad that we’re home, because it means that I’m finally away from _you_ , you insufferably harpy!”

Anakin smiled weakly at Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen before saying tiredly, “We’re home?”

They didn’t seem impressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Ballad of Tamlin is actually a real story, and way cool too! You can read it here: http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/eng/child/ch039.htm  
> Version D is my favorite translation, and the one Solas quotes a bit.


	4. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of updates. You'll get a real one soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is the chapter I meant to post :)

Standing on the dock on the edges of Honnleath, everything was so serene and perfect as to be a dream. Cullen took a deep breath, feeling the warm humidity in his lungs, smelling and tasting the ever-present scent of embrium and elfroot and water. He loved it here, he truly did. He couldn’t really understand why it had been so long since he was last here.

Then, a presence at his back. Yet, somehow, he wasn’t alarmed, not even when hands closed around his arms. When he felt a small pointed nose tip drag up the back of his neck and into his hairline, he smiled, leaning back ever so slightly. Of course he wasn’t alarmed. It was Anakin. She could never be a cause for alarm.

“My love,” she whispered into his ear, voice light and so, so gentle. “My love,” she repeated, humming. He could feel her smile on his skin, and it only quickened the flutter of his heart. How precious, to be someone’s love. How curious, how wonderful.

“What is it?” he whispered back, still not looking at her. He wanted to name her his own love, but it seemed cheap to do so now, as if he was simply parroting her words back.

It was so blue, the lake, the sky, everything.

“I need you.”

This set not only his heart, but something deep inside of him, to heat, and he felt too eager, like a fumbling boy in a farm loft with his sweetheart, when he told her fervently, “Anything. Anything.”

Her hands slid down his arms, to his wrists, tightening around them. It felt like she was restraining him, and he still didn’t mind, nor did he yet look at her. Instead, he kept looking at the blue lake and the blue sky and the blue fish leaping out of the water to catch glowbugs that lit the air like stars. He imagined her, standing on her tiptoes to reach his ear, her feet bare, her hair loose, grown long in her time adventuring. Her huge green eyes, unnatural for a human, but so perfect on her. He even dared to imagine her gentle curves, barely visible in her clothing, but he remembered the small softness of her breasts and lean line of her hips from where he’d been unable to keep himself from peeking when they bathed together all those years ago.

“Do you promise me?” she murmured, moving from his left ear to his right one. She gently nipped the lobe of it and he shuddered in her arms. “Anything, you say. Do you mean it? Anything I ask?”

“ _Always._ ”

Anakin’s hands fell away from his wrists as she curled around him to view his face, and she was more beautiful than he could imagine. More than that, she wore nothing, copper skin bare and gleaming in the light as if she’d just come from a bath. Before he could say anything, she said, a strangeness to her voice, “Then run.”

“Wh-“

And then she pushed his chest, hard. Her eyes were light still, her smile was still kind, but it was a very powerful push. “Run, love. I’ll follow.”

Cullen didn’t understand what in the Maker’s sweet world was happening, but he had just promised her anything, hadn’t he? Without another sound, he turned and ran. While Honnleath’s dock had been the same as he remembered, nothing else was the same. He couldn’t see the village, could only see dark and twisted trees reaching for the constellations above them. Still, he ran into them, the nearly indiscernible patter of Anakin’s feet following him all the way.

As he ran, he found himself shedding his armor, his arms and hands moving as if he was possessed. First his mantle, then his greaves and gloves. His feet were bare easily enough, despite the fact that he usually struggled with his boots for minutes at a time before they came off.

When Cullen took his shirt off, he could swear he heard Anakin’s soft laugh chime behind him, but there was no way to turn and check. He had to keep running, and it was as if everything in the forest was conspiring against him. Branches swayed threateningly at his face, causing him to flinch and duck, and roots were thick and gnarled, grown high above the dirt. There were no animals making noises, and no wind. The leaves were thick enough that no light got through—it was only the dancing light of the glowbugs that filled the forest that kept Cullen upright.

The scent of the lake had faded completely, replaced by the loamy earth smell he still remembered from the cabin in the Planascene Forest. It had grown immeasurably warmer too, something he hadn’t realized at first. Now though, he was sweating despite his increasing lack of clothing, but perhaps that was the exertion. Still, he pushed himself to run faster, even as he tripped his way out of his pants and underclothes.

Anakin made another noise behind him, but this time, it wasn’t a laugh. Unable to help himself, Cullen slowed and turned his head, desperate to see her, to ask what was going on, why she was doing this, but before he could see her, he felt something snag on his foot and he lost his stomach in the most unpleasant fashion as he was flung through the air. He hit the ground hard, dirt and rocks scraping his shoulder and back, and when he finished sliding, he laid still, groaning. Opening his eyes slowly, lights flashing in his eyes as his head throbbed and ached, he found himself greeted with a massive statue. At least fifteen feet of solid gray stone, lit ominously by veilfire, a woman stared down at him. A strange mask covered her face, and while her hips were covered by a low-slung skirt, her breasts were exposed. In place of arms, she had widely spread draconian wings, and a wolf licked at her feet. Somehow, she reminded him of Anakin, despite the lack of any resemblance. Just before the statue was a massive altar, made of the stone and hewn roughly. A golden bowl rested on its top.

“ _Mythal, the all-mother_.”

Cullen turned his head to see Anakin standing in the shadows at the edge of the clearing he found himself in, staring up at the statue, a strange smile on her lips. Unnerved, he cleared his throat and whispered her name. Her eyes met his instantly, and she edged forward from the shadows and into the blue-green light of the veilfire torches.

“You’ve found a shrine to our goddess of love. Perhaps we should make an offering?”

_I’m a man of the Chantry, a worshipper of the Maker and a devout Andrastian_ , he could tell her. _I don’t believe in your Creators._

Instead, he rubbed at the joint between his shoulder and his neck, jolting at the reminder of bare skin, and asked, “How would we do that, Anakin?”

Her smile was slow and hungry and Cullen lost his stomach again. This time he didn’t mind at all. Slowly, she moved to the altar, and he realized that his mantle was wrapped around her shoulders. Her hips swayed as if to a beat he couldn’t hear, and Cullen scrambled to his feet without another thought. Any and all pain he had felt before was gone now, gone at the sight of her. She reached the altar and heaved herself up to sit on its rough surface, spreading her legs and placing the bowl between her thighs before he could see anything.

“I shouldn’t be seeing this,” Cullen said dazedly even as he moved towards her as if compelled. “Anakin, we should- we should be in a bed, where I can love and worship you properly—“

“What better place to love and worship me than at the feet of Mythal?” she crooned, voice low and pleading. “Come, Cullen. You promised me anything.”

He had reached the altar, and to his shame, his cock was already stirring. He meant to reach and cover it, but instead, found his hands resting on Anakin’s splayed thighs.

“What magic is this?” he asked her, eyes raking over her, from her white hair to her full lips to her shoulders (covered in _his_ clothes, _his_ scent), her waist, where his hands rested on her thighs, and of course, her breasts. “What spell do you have me under? What ritual is this?”

“You’ve caught me,” she said, a laugh in her voice. “This is one of my pagan Dalish sex rituals, spurred by the magic I’ve conspired with Solas to hide from everyone.”

His face flamed red with embarrassment, and he hid it quickly in the soft juncture between her neck and shoulder, the fur of his mantle soft on his cheek.

“I just- I don’t know how I can love you so much without it being magic,” he whispered helplessly, unable to stop the damning words from spilling from his lips. “How can so much of me be yours so irrevocably, and so quickly? It isn’t fair, it isn’t—“

Her long fingers combed through his hair. “Hush, my love,” she said laughingly, her hands warm and reassuring.

“How can you love me?” the question burst from his chest unbidden. “I’m an old, washed up, broken ex-Templar, I’ve done terrible things, I’m not worth anything, how could you—how _could_ you?”

“How could I not?” she said, voice powerful and strong. “When I look at you, I see many things. I see my handsome and powerful commander, who has led my troops—and me—to victory time and time again. I see a quiet and kind man, who trusted a Dalish elf and didn’t hurt her, even in the depths of lyrium withdrawals. Nowhere do I see an old, washed up, broken ex-Templar.”

His hands tightened on her thighs and he didn’t speak. Her fingers curled in his hair and pulled him from his hiding place, guiding his head down to between her thighs.

“Drink.”

For one mind-spinning moment, he thought of tasting her, of licking into her core and drinking there, but then his nose met the cold liquid of whatever it was in the bowl between her legs and, blushing yet again, he did as she asked and drank.

It was water. The coolest and sweetest he had ever tasted, with a strange aftertaste he couldn’t place, but water nonetheless. He tried to lift his head, but her fingers tightened once more and kept him where he was.

“All of it, ma vhenan,” she whispered. Closing his eyes, he did as she commanded, drinking and drinking until he realized to get the last dregs, he would have to lick the bowl. Water dripping from his nose, lips, and eyelashes, he furrowed his brow and lapped at the gold bowl, the metal somehow still sweet. Once everything was gone, he tried to raise his head, unable to keep from panting. This time, Anakin let him. She was amused, a smile twitching at her lips and her eyes bright. Her vallaslin seemed to glow in the light of veilfire.

“Good,” she told him, using one hand pulled from his hair to bat the bowl away. “Now, please, will you kiss me?”

He couldn’t respond but to groan, falling to her and kissing her desperately. His hands framed her face, and she was so small and delicate in his hands. Shameful thoughts of pulling her close, pushing her head down and having her suck on his cock, which had sometime while drinking the altar’s water grown completely hard, filled his head. Somehow, in this blue darkness, watched by Mythal and her wolf, the thoughts didn’t feel so wrong. His eyes fluttered open as he pulled away to look at her, but the statue caught his eye.

It no longer looked like Mythal—rather, it looked like the statue of Andraste in the Honnleath’s Chantry—or did it? Perhaps it looked like Anakin, there, in the curve of her lips, the point of her chin, but then it was Mythal again. Maybe, he realized slowly, looking down to the Anakin in his arms, it was all of them at once. His holiest woman, her holiest woman, and _her,_ his most loved, his most revered.

This was blasphemy of the highest degree.

She shifted against him, and the golden bowl was thrown to the ground, her thighs wrapping around his bare hips. A thrill ran through his whole body and his fingers tightened around her shoulders, where they’d fallen at some point during their kiss.

“I love you,” he told her, and it was desperate. “I love you. I need you to understand. I love you. I love you. _I love you._ ”

Anakin smiled up at him brilliantly. “I understand, Cullen. I promise, I do.”

Things went by quickly after that. There were no more clothes to remove, so he laid her down on the altar, and moved down to kiss her feet, the turn of her ankles, her knees.

_I worship this. I worship these feet which brought you to me. I worship these legs which carried you into the Fade and out of it again._

Over her stomach, skipping the most intimate areas, to gently kiss each of her breasts before catching her hands and kissing them too. One palm turned to cradle his face, guiding him to look at her, and her green eyes were so bright, so intense, matched only by the glow of her hand. Cullen realized he was shaking and lunged forward to kiss her, hard.

_I worship these muscles, this flesh, and this fat that has kept you safe for all your life. I worship these hands, in turns so gentle and so fierce, that have held swords, that have held me, and that hold the whole Fade._

_I worship this mouth that speaks words that inspire all who hear them, these lips which smile so kindly._

Then, amidst Anakin’s sweet kisses, he heard the voice of one of his lecturers from his early days as a Templar, clear as a bell: “Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting. You have brought Sin to heaven.”

_Threnodies,_ he thought dazedly. _Chapter eight, verse 13._

He pulled away from Anakin amidst protests and asked, or maybe begged, “Anakin, can I…? May I? I need…”

The smile that spread across her face was devious. “I thought you’d never ask.”

It was slow; so, so slow. He may not be very experienced, but he knew this was her first time, and he knew that could hurt a woman. So very slowly, his cock—a burning arousal that had somehow fallen from his mind while so intimately tasting Anakin—entered her warmth.

The sensations were enough to drown him, and he was suddenly burningly aware of his whole body; his knees against the warm, unyielding stone of the altar; his left elbow holding his weight on the altar next to her ear, carefully avoiding pulling her hair accidentally; his right hand open-palmed against the stone, itching to hold her face; the points of her nipples brushing his chest tantalizingly every time either of them gasped for breath; their hips and bellies pushed tightly together, slicked by sweat; and his cock, inside of her where everything was slick and silk-soft and so, so smooth.

He was going to come embarrassingly quickly.

Hastily, Cullen brought his right hand down to the area where they were joined, firstly marveling at the way it felt, his own dick sliding in and out of her in slow pumps, before going to find the spot a fellow Knight-Captain had shown him in the nights where he’d sought her out for relief back in Kirkwall when the loneliness was too much.

He knew when he found it from the way she arched her back as if to break it. The trill that burst from her lips was beautiful, a sound he longed to hear again and he couldn’t help but rub her firmly, the pace of his thrusts increasing. She was so beautiful, her mouth fallen open, her eyes clenched tightly shut, as she undulated beneath him, into his touches then away then back again.

“Anakin,” he whispered, kneading even more powerfully, leaning to pepper her face with kisses. It was a shame their size difference was too great for him to comfortably reach her breasts in this position. “Anakin, Anakin, Anakin. Does it feel good? Please, does it feel good?”

His name burst from her lips and his eyes flew wide, a roar bursting from deep in his chest as he felt her tighten in the throes of orgasm around him. Her nails raked at his back and he could distantly feel cold, wet blood hit the air as he stuttered into her, finding his own release—

Cullen sat up with a cry, chest heaving and cock still pulsing. His room was pitch black, his underclothes wet around his hips, and he could hear Leliana and Josephine murmuring in a different room. For a second, his disorientation was so great that he couldn’t comprehend what had happened—then, slowly, he realized he’d been dreaming. Already, it was fading, just a memory of blue and green and Anakin. It was always Anakin. Groaning, he swung his legs from his bed and shimmied out of his smalls, throwing them into a wash pile.

He was far too old for these dreams to be having such an effect on him, really.

Pulling on new underclothes, he stumbled back to bed and fell asleep easily.


	5. Fall in Love Just a Little More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin gets a brief rest in Haven. Emphasis on brief.

Anakin collapsed gratefully on to her bed with a sigh. It was even more comfortable and wonderful than she remembered. Groaning, she tried to wriggle closer and maybe become one with the bed. That sounded nice, right about now.

Luckily, she’d been able to beg off a debriefing after practically throwing Mother Giselle to them, citing that everyone needed a nap to decompress before they could report and plan things out more. Surprisingly, Leliana had been her ally in this, and had willingly let Anakin leave her horse—still saddled and packed, the poor thing—and run away to her hut.

Much to her dismay, there was a knock on her door. She hadn’t even gotten five minutes to herself! Anakin didn’t even bother getting off her bed, instead turning into her pillow and groaning loudly before asking, “What is it?”

There was no reply, but the door softly creaked open. Alarmed, Anakin sat up and turned to the door. Thankfully, it was just Cullen.

She dropped back to the bed. “What is it?”

“If you’re not too tired,” he said, “I think I would like to have our talk now, before a dragon or some other fantastical creature swoops in and stops us.”

“Aren’t dragons extinct?” she mumbled into her pillow. He settled next to her on the bed, rubbing a warm hand between her sore shoulders. She looked up to him, and there was a peculiar expression on his face, one she couldn’t read. He seemed in an entirely different world. She nudged her fingers against his and he rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks a little red before, clearing his throat.

“Yes, they are,” he said. “But as the world seems to be conspiring against us, I figure bringing a species back to life isn’t that hard in the grand scheme of things.”

Anakin turned to face him slowly, his hand falling off her back to rest beside her on the bed. She looked at him for a long moment. He seemed almost as tired as she was, but there was still an energy to him she wished she could possess.

“I may fall asleep on you,” she warned, “but yes, we can talk now.”

He smiled wryly. “Shall we take turns asking questions, then?”

“Yes,” she said, then smiled. “And since you just asked one, that means it’s my turn.”

She rushed on before he could argue, which he seemed quite willing to do. “How have you been? You know, with the lyrium and all. You seem good, but appearances can be deceiving.”

His hand tightened in the furs next to her, and he turned away. It was amazing how even the mention of lyrium seemed to add ten years to his weary soul. “I haven’t touched lyrium since,” he said quietly. “I don’t crave it the way I used to, and while I still have the nightmares, they never plague me during the day. Still, different thoughts worry me in the day.”

He looked back at her, and his jaw was tight, but he managed a weak smile. “I won’t trouble you with them now, but perhaps someday.”

Anakin wanted to argue, but she remembered promising him, years ago, that she would never pry, only ever listen. She wouldn’t break that oath now, and with some difficulty, she nodded and said, “Then it is your turn.”

“How have you been?” he said, turning her question on her. “Like you said, Anakin, four years is a long time.”

She heard the unspoken ‘especially when one is as young as you are’ and smiled a bit, a wave of self-deprecation breaking over her. It was sometimes hard, being the youngest by at least a good decade of everyone around you.

“I… was fine,” she said slowly. “I became closer friends with the First of my clan. I worked on my skills in battle. I’m better at hunting now. Nearly everything went back to how it had been.”

She didn’t tell him how much she had resented it, at first. How, after the excitement and fulfillment that came from being by his side, returning to the daily cycles of her clan felt meaningless and draining. She _definitely_ didn’t tell him of how she pined for him in those first long weeks, praying to Mythal nightly to please, bring them together again. She didn’t tell him that it took a year for the Keeper to trust her to be on her own, to believe she wouldn’t run off with the next shemlen that crossed her path. She didn’t tell him about one of the older hunters, a man who’d treated her like a favored niece beforehand, hissing words like _traitor_ and _shem-fucker_ at her as she passed.

After all, he kept his secrets; so too would she keep hers.

“Good,” he said. “That’s good. I hoped your clan wouldn’t be angry at you for what you did.”

Anakin smiled and didn’t answer, other than to say, “My turn.”

Then, she hesitated, before saying softly, picking her words carefully and wondering if she was crossing a line, “Cullen. Why did you keep my sword these past few years? It’s not easy to carry around, and it makes no real sense to carry a weapon you can barely wield.”

“It doesn’t make much sense, does it?” he said, humming thoughtfully. “And yet, I did keep it, and I kept it sharp. I suppose it’s because I hoped, and even believed a bit, that somehow you and I would cross paths again. Maker, I think I would have sought you out eventually, once all this had settled. There was just too much left waiting between us for me to just let it go.”

Cullen took his turn to hesitate, turning towards her and looking at her carefully through lowered eyes. “My question then is, do you feel it too? Whatever it is that compels me to find you?”

_Oh dear._ Creators save me from this man, Anakin thought despairingly. She couldn’t do this. As young as she self-admittedly was, Anakin _had_ grown. She had put these ideas behind her, these dreams of gifts from goddesses, of fates and loves and what-may-be. Being around Cullen brought all of those dreams back, however, all of the heat and surety and conviction. It didn’t matter at all that she’d grown—maybe it wouldn’t have mattered even if she had grown to fifty, or a hundred. Perhaps Cullen would always hold this sway over her, would always make her feel like a giddy, love-struck child, singing at the stars and the moon and dreaming of the days when the eternal elvhen had soulmates to help them through the long years of forever.

And here she was again! It was an eternal cycle, of pretending she was past this, pretending she wasn’t who she had been when they first met, only to catch herself justifying her own feelings, convincing herself it was all right to feel what she did.

Thus, the only answer she could honestly give him was, “Yes. I feel it too.”

Cullen beamed at her, as bright and fierce as the sun. “I’m glad.”

Anakin could do nothing but helplessly smile back.

His hand found hers and held it tightly, and still smiling, he said, “Well then, it’s your turn to ask a question of me. What will it be?”

There were so many questions she could ask him. Did you fall in love with any other shemlen, or even other elves, while I was gone? Were you ever as in love with me as I felt I was with you, or was I just crazy? How did you fall in with such powerful women as Leliana and Josephine, and how has the world turned to this? The only question she really wanted to ask though, was “Did you ever hate me, for lying to you about there being a cure for lyrium addiction?”

He shook his head, eyes never leaving hers. “Not once.”

Anakin sighed gratefully, her shoulders lifting. A burden she hadn’t realized weighed upon her had been lifted after years of carrying it, and she smiled at Cullen. A strange look passed his face and he moved in closer to her. Her breath caught.

“Now for my question,” he said quietly. “Before I left you, something happened—something I have replayed in my head countless times in these past few years. Would you trust me enough to close your eyes and wait for my move?”

The answer came to her lips easily. “Of course. Always, lethallin.”

“Then please. Close your eyes, Anakin.”

She did. Despite her easy trust, her mind raced. What would he do? She knew what she would like to happen—her cheeks burned red at the thought, she could feel it—but really, there was no telling what Cullen had planned. His ways had always been foreign to her, but she enjoyed it nonetheless.

“Why are you blushing?” Cullen whispered. She could feel his breath across her face and shivered. His breath smelled of embrium.

“It’s not your turn to ask a question,” she protested, eyes still closed.

“Humor me.”

Her heart skipped a beat, and she contemplated lying, or simply not answering. However, other than her one big lie, they’d always been honest to each other—or, she’d always been honest to him and expected that he’d been honest in return—and she didn’t want to disturb that now.

Her face went hotter, and she whispered, wondering embarrassedly what her own breath smelled of, “I imagined you kissing me.”

“How strange,” he mused, something hidden in his voice playful. “Perhaps you have clairvoyant abilities after all.”

And he leaned in and kissed her.

It was like time froze. She gasped softly before pressing into him. There was no heat to this kiss, no passion, just the gentle touch of a second first kiss. His lips were chapped from the cold, his stubble rough against her delicate skin. His hands, nearly twice the size of her own, cradled her face with aching tenderness. Her eyes fluttered open inn time to see him slowly open his own warm brown eyes as he pulled away slowly. Unbidden, a sound of protest fell from her parted lips.

His smile was so bright as his thumbs stroked her cheekbones. “Perfect.”

Anakin planted her hands on his thighs and leaned forward to kiss him again. He returned the kiss willingly, laying her gently back on her bed. She didn’t feel pressured or rushed at all, just safe and adored. Her hands, which had moved to his hips as she laid down, moved again to find his shoulders, wrapping tightly in the fur of his mantle. One of his hands rested on her lower back, sandwiched between her body and the bed; the other mapped the side of her face carefully and thoughtfully. The kisses they shared remained chaste, the simple meeting and parting of lips—then, eventually, her lips on the side his mouth, on his closed eye, his forehead; his lips on her chin, her cheekbones, her nose.

It was such a novel way to learn the shape of someone else’s face, and Anakin was entirely enamored. She didn’t think she’d want to learn anyone else’s face like this, however.

Everything about him was bigger than her, something she’d never really realized. His hands and arms, his torso and legs, even his face and head. Anakin loved it, loved how it felt to be entirely wrapped up in someone so much bigger and stronger than her. She may be a good warrior, may even become a great one before this nonsense in the sky was done, but as a human man, Cullen had an inherent and natural size to him that would be forever mysterious to her.

She felt like nothing could ever break the safety of his embrace.

Slowly, she realized that they had stopped kissing. Cullen laid atop her, his face buried in her neck, breath from his nose warm and damp on her neck. Her face was buried in his hair, where she planted a soft kiss. He smiled against her neck. It felt almost like he was crushing her under his weight, but in the best of ways. She never wanted him to get off her.

“That was nice,” she murmured into his hair. It smelled of smoke and wet fur. He hummed in agreement.

“We should do that every time I come back from a mission.” His hum this time was _very_ interested.

“We should do that every time we see each other. Just find the nearest empty room and take a fifteen minute break from everything.”

“I’ve created a monster,” he mumbled into her skin. She laughed, both at the tickling sensation and the statement.

“Does it really sound like such a bad plan?”

“Not at all,” he said, pulling back to look at her, “which is the issue. You and I are much too busy to take fifteen minutes every time we meet to kiss and embrace. We would never get anything done.”

Of course he was right. The two of them had too much resting on their shoulders to engage in such silly meetings. Still, it was nice to imagine.

“Every time you or I get back from a mission, though?” she wheedled. “That’s okay?”

He grinned boyishly at her. “More than okay, Anakin.”

“Good.” She shimmied down his body, pushing him over so she could sprawl across him. Once she settled with her head on his heart, he wrapped his arms around her. With every breath she moved, and she found the beat and breath of him comforting. If she concentrated, she could even feel the pulse of his wrist where one hand rested on the back of her left ribs.

She was even drowsier now then she had been when he first entered her cabin, and softly she asked, “Can I sleep here, just like this?”

“Only if you don’t mind that I sleep too.”

“Sounds perfect,” she said dreamily, and then she was asleep.

 

“Ahem.”

Anakin woke sleepily, feeling unusually safe and content. The orange light of a sunset filtered in through her window, blocked by a shadow. Anakin squinted before she realized who it was—light had always played tricks on her vision, a symptom of her poor eyesight.

“Leliana,” she mumbled sleepily. Leliana inclined her head.

“Herald.”

“Herald?”

“Haven’t you heard?” Cullen said, slow and drowsy behind her. “You’re the Herald of Andraste, now.”

Anakin groaned softly and hid her face in Cullen’s chest. He was still in his armor. How had he managed to fall asleep?

“Why are they calling me that?” she asked, voice muffled.

Leliana laughed softly. “The people need something to believe in. For some, that’s you. At any rate, Anakin, there are people who need to speak with you. Shall I provide you a list?”

Anakin tried not to look like just the thought made her head ache. “Do that many people need to see me?”

Leliana hummed softly, hips swaying gently. “Let’s see… Mother Giselle would like to talk with you. I think she has herbs she wants you to gather. There’s a man standing outside the Chantry who’s looking for an Inquisition leader, but Josephine and I made a bet on how long he would stand and wait, so it’s up to you to approach him. Varric wants to talk to you about red lyrium, and I suppose the rest can wait. Cullen, for you we’ve received word about our missing men.”

Anakin and Cullen both sat up quickly.

“We have men missing—?”

“How are they? Where are they?”

“They have been taken hostage by a barbarian clan known as the Avaar in the Fallow Mire. We’ll need your opinion, Anakin, on who to send to save them.”

“Well, I’ll go, obviously,” Anakin said instantly. Leliana smiled at her. It was a much nicer smile than her usual knowing smirk, but before she could respond, Cullen spoke.

“If you have the time, of course you can go, but we will need to send men with you. I can send troops, Leliana can send spies, and Josephine can do… something. She always does,” he said, shaking his head. Anakin got the feeling that he didn’t have much of a head for diplomacy. From the exasperated look Leliana had, she supposed she was correct.

Sighing, Anakin looked out the window. The first traces of indigo were starting to streak the horizon. “I better go and find them then. Thank you for letting us sleep as long as you did, Leliana.”

She blinked slowly, like a cat. “Of course. Do not forget that we also need a briefing on how the Hinterlands are. After all, Cassandra locked herself in her room and I do believe Varric is trying to sew his tent closed with himself inside. Solas has disappeared again, leaving you to help us. Mother Giselle, however, spoke most highly of you. You did well.”

Anakin’s fingers tightened around her knees and she slumped over slightly. “She thinks I should go to Val Royeaux.”

Cullen opened his mouth to speak but Leliana cut over him. “This does need to be discussed, but we should wait until Josephine is with us. For now, I advise you two go about your business.”

Cullen nodded, standing. “You’re right. The sooner I hear the report on our men, the better. I want them safely back here as soon as possible.” Turning, he gently kissed Anakin’s hair. “Get some dinner on your way to talk with people, all right?”

“You too,” she said, watching him wistfully. He waved a dismissive hand and was gone. Anakin looked back to Leliana.

“I think communal dinner tonight is nug stew,” she said, “but if you want to go out and catch your own ram or perhaps druffalo, I’m sure no one would mind.”

Anakin shook her head, standing and walking to the door with Leliana. “No, I’ll be fine with what everyone else is having. Stew has never tasted better than in a cold place like this.”

Leliana hummed in agreement. “Just wait until you drink hot chocolate with your friends around a fire. Times like that are perhaps the most peaceful I’ve ever felt outside of Divine Justinia’s presence.”

“Chocolate?” Anakin asked as they made their way through the gates to Haven. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“It isn’t very common down here. The Qun annually produces crops of beans called cacao that they melt down to make a very bitter drink. It can, however, be considerably sweetened with milk and sugar. Perhaps we can share a drink of it sometime together. Josie has very much been looking forward to trying it as well.”

Anakin smiled, touched by Leliana’s casual inclusion of her. “I would love that. Next time you have a shipment, let me know.”

Leliana dipped her head, smiling just a bit. “Good evening, Herald.”

Anakin turned away to greet Mother Giselle, who approached from the Chantry with a two bowls in her hands.

“Herald. I am glad that you have the time to speak with me.”

Anakin shook her head, taking the bowl Mother Giselle offered. “It’s no problem. Sorry I couldn’t help you earlier. I was—um…”

She trailed off slowly, ears and cheeks warming. Mother Giselle chuckled.

“It is all right, child. I’m sure even Andraste had to take naps sometimes.”

“I wish people would stop comparing me to her,” Anakin blurted out. “I’m so terrified, Mother, all the time. I don’t want to disappoint everyone.”

Mother Giselle’s eyes were warm and understanding, and one of her hands landed on Anakin’s shoulder. “It is quite the burden you bear, child. I will not promise you that no one will be disappointed in you, but remember that none but the Maker can judge you.”

Anakin grew quiet, thinking. Perhaps Mother Giselle was right, if not in the way she thought she was. Anakin still didn’t believe in the Maker, not the way the Andrastians did. It was Anakin’s personal opinion, however, that the Creators did manage to influence the mortal realm, and it was thus that legends were like Andraste were born. Andraste, like Mythal, was loving and fierce and protected those who needed. Perhaps Anakin too had been blessed by the Creators to do their work, although a part of her wondered darkly if it was actually Falon’Din who had laid claim to her. The Creators weren’t as influential as the Chantry believed their Maker to be, it was true, but they too must have known what they were doing when they set her on this path. By hesitating and staying fearful, she couldn’t do what they wanted her to do. Unless they chose her because she was hesitant? And hesitancy was needed?

She sighed. The will of the Creators’ was forever mysterious to her. She supposed she would just keep trying to do the right thing, and ask her friends for help when she was unsure.

She looked up from the stew she had been thoughtfully eating to see Mother Giselle staring at her, amused. “Did you come to a conclusion?”

Anakin flushed again. “Um, yes. Sort of. Thank you for your patience.”

“It is no issue, Herald. I mainly wanted to see if you had given any more thought to my suggestion of visiting Val Royeaux.”

Anakin grimaced reflexively before apologizing. “I’m sorry, Mother Giselle, it really is a good idea. It’s my own fears and insecurities that hold me back. I don’t want to make things worse for the Inquisition because of my political ineptness.”

Anakin was also frightened of the many shem that would be there, but it didn’t seem astute to tell Mother Giselle that. Of course, there were many shem in the Inquisition as well, but it was different. The scouts were her people. She had trusted her back to them many times over since she woke up in a cell all those weeks ago.

“I will have to talk about it with Cullen, Leliana, Josephine and Cassandra, but I think perhaps you’re right,” she admitted reluctantly. Mother Giselle took her empty bowl and briefly held Anakin’s hand. Her eyes had not lost their kindness, but there was a bit of sadness there as well.

“Please do not be scared, my child. The Maker will keep you safe, as well as your companions and those who make up the Inquisition. Always remember that.”

Anakin smiled at her and pretended her lower lip didn’t tremble. “Thank you, Mother. I have to go now. I hope your quarters are adequate.”

She left before Mother Giselle could reply, hands shaking.

 

It was on her way to the War Room that she was stopped and she remembered that there had been a man looking for her. The first stars were starting to twinkle in the sky.

“Hey,” the man said, holding out a hand as if he wanted to grab her arm before pulling his hand back. “I’m sorry, it’s just—is there anyone in charge I could talk to?”

Anakin shrugged. “I’m not really in charge, but you could talk to me.”

He looked perhaps a little vexed, but started talking anyway. “I’m Cremisius Aclassi. I’m here on behalf of the Bull’s Chargers. We’d like to offer you the Chargers; for a price, of course. If you’re at all interested, the Boss is down on the Storm Coast and he’d be glad to meet with you.”

Anakin nodded, closing her eyes and trying to memorize what he’d told her. Aclassi, Chargers, Storm Coast. “Thank you. I’ll make sure it’s discussed and we send someone to tell you our answer.” Aclassi nodded back at her, smiling. It was a very charming smile.

“I’ll see you later then, my lady.”

He left before she could correct him on her standing. Somehow, being called a lady by anyone besides Cullen was even stranger than being called the Herald.

She finally made it to the War Room uninterrupted, and the others trickled in slowly. They all looked at the map silently for a moment before Josephine broke the silence.

“There are many time-sensitive missions that require our attention, but there are only so many of us. We need to decide who needs to go where.”

Anakin felt her heart sink. More hard decisions, more lives resting on her shoulders. She looked at the map intently. There were pins marking locations with small scrolls attached to detail the situation. The first one she read was the one closest to her, marked ‘Missing Soldiers’. She pulled out the pin.

“This is important,” she said firmly. “We can’t appear strong if we can’t protect our men, especially since they haven’t even been taken hostage by a national power, right? So how can we help them?”

“I could send spies,” Leliana offered. Cullen nodded and added, “I have soldiers who are missing their companions. They would be glad to search for any clue of our missing soldiers’ whereabouts.”

Anakin nodded decisively. “All right. Cullen, could you send men there?” He nodded grimly. “I would be glad to, Anakin, as I’m sure will my men.”

Anakin breathed out heavily. There was one decision made, and with little pain. Josephine cleared her throat delicately.

“If I may, Herald, there is a mission in Orlais on Lake Celestine that I feel my people can handle. Shall I do that?”

“Yes!” Anakin said eagerly, then shrunk back. “I mean. Yes, that sounds lovely, Josephine. Please do.”

Leliana and Cullen were both smirking at her now, and Anakin reminded herself to find Varric before he finished sewing his tent shut so that she could get prank ideas from him. Actually, speaking of Varric…

“Okay, Leliana. Varric has been very angry, and I think that’s maybe why he snapped at Cassandra and fought with her today. Someone published what is apparently a very badly written book under his name. Maybe you could look into that? I know it’s not critical, but I think it’s very important that my companions are content.”

As if to punctuate her point, Cassandra started screaming outside the door about whining dwarves and Leliana agreed mildly, “Yes. It is perhaps best that we keep friction and tensions low.”

Cassandra slammed through the door, furious. Her shoulders were heaving and she was actually snarling.

“Have we figured out what we’re doing?” she barked. Anakin tried to subtly sidle away from her. Luckily, Cassandra was angry enough she didn’t noticed.

“Mostly,” Josephine said. “All that remains is the discussion as to whether or not the Herald should visit Val Royeaux.”

Cullen snorted. “We’re considering that? You can’t be serious.”

Josephine looked offended. “Mother Giselle is right! If we can sway even a quarter of the Mothers to our side, it would make us much more palatable to the faithful!”

Cullen turned away, rubbing his neck. Leliana hummed thoughtfully from the other end of the table. “It may not be worth the danger to the Herald.”

Josephine gestured impatiently with her scroll. “Then perhaps we should ask _her_ opinion.”

Anakin froze as all eyes turned to her before she giggled nervously. “Me? I’m perhaps not the best to ask.”

“And why not?” Cassandra snapped, although she had calmed since leaving Varric’s presence. Anakin’s shoulders tightened and she smiled weakly.

“I don’t want to go for personal reasons, you see. I’m biased.”

Cullen softened from his angry posture. “What do you mean, Anakin? Is everything all right?”

Josephine too looked concerned. “Indeed, Herald. What are these reasons?”

Anakin’s smile turn self-deprecating. “You see, the Dalish don’t interact with humans very much, and we’re taught to fear cities from a young age. Haven is small, you know? Val Royeaux is not small. There are a lot of shemlen there. And obviously not all shem are bad! I like the people here at Haven fine! But…”

Leliana nodded. “It’s a city in Orlais—the capital, even. I’m not surprised, especially considering what has happened to the alienages there in recent years.”

Anakin hadn’t heard any news about Orlesian alienages. She also didn’t want to, so she didn’t ask. Cassandra made a derisive noise.

“Is that all? It’s simple then. I will go with you.”

Anakin looked to be the only one surprised in the room, so she stopped gaping quickly.

“There are names Mother Giselle has for us? We’ll use them. We are worried about the Herald’s safety? I will protect her. Does anyone here doubt my capabilities?”

Obviously, no one did. Cassandra nodded decisively. “We need all the help with the Breach we can get. Josephine, use what influence we have to gather the Mothers. We’ll leave at daybreak tomorrow.”

And with that, Cassandra left. Anakin exchanged looks with the others.

“Well,” Cullen said. “I guess that’s settled, unless anyone would like to bring it up with Lady Pentaghast herself?”

Anakin shook her head frantically. Leliana and Josephine looked like they agreed with her, although perhaps not as vehemently.

Josephine sighed. Anakin thought it might be appreciative, but she wasn’t sure. “I think that woman has dragon blood in her.”

Cullen shook his head. “Either way, that’s enough for tonight. Shall we turn in for the night?”

There was a general murmur of agreement, although Anakin wasn’t that tired after her long nap with Cullen. Still, she left the room with the rest of them, and wasn’t entirely surprised when Cullen gently took her to the side.

Suddenly Anakin was terrified that he was going to ask her to stay in his room. The thought shouldn’t scare her as much as it did, especially when they’d inhabited their cabin alone together for three days, but they also hadn’t been kissing then. Anakin hadn’t had any sexual experience when she was sixteen, and somewhat embarrassingly, she hadn’t in the years since either. While the thought of going further with Cullen made her heart race and her stomach turn pleasantly, she wasn’t ready yet.

“I wanted to wish you a good night,” Cullen said softly, holding her wrists gently. Anakin wasn’t sure if she was relieved or not that this was all he had in mind. Before she could speak, though, Cullen’s brow furrowed and he held her arms tighter.

“Your heart,” he said. “It’s racing. I can even feel it through your clothes.”

Anakin ripped her wrists out of his grasp to turn around and cover her face with her hands. “It’s nothing!” she squeaked, blatantly lying. “I just! Lady Cassandra! Scared me!”

Cullen chuckled lowly behind her, and it made the twisting in her guts about a hundred times worse. When he wrapped his arms around her waist, she jumped about a foot. He just held her tighter, then kissed the side of her neck gently. Her pulse was going even faster now, especially when he lingered, his stubble a rough contrast to his soft lips.

“Good night, Anakin,” he whispered. “Sweet dreams.”

She moved her hands from her face down to his hands, gently holding them as she slowly calmed. “You too,” she whispered. Not allowing herself to second-guess, she turned her head so she could kiss his cheek. Slowly, he pulled away, the tension on his face gone for once. Giving her one last smile, he turned into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Anakin sighed, her lips warm and the scent of him lingering. After a moment, she opened her eyes and strode out of the Chantry.

She had a dwarf to discuss personal matters with before she left again tomorrow morning.


End file.
